


Broken Ocean

by CaptainNeedsNoSleep, ItsDinnerTime



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Genji is not a little shit, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Post-Recall, Sassy Tekhartha Zenyatta, Violence, a little fluff on the side, idiots to dorks to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 04:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15833823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainNeedsNoSleep/pseuds/CaptainNeedsNoSleep, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsDinnerTime/pseuds/ItsDinnerTime
Summary: When the lesson’s learned and written on a pageI’ll buy the book to watch it burn and save the ashesFor soon arrives an age, a loss of innocence when we get judged in every wayThat stop the splashes, stop the splashes





	1. Prologue: Water Under The Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Water is the beginning of everything.  
> It stills the thirst, floats through us, cleanses.  
> Water is the element of healing, love.  
> Water is energy constantly flowing through us.  
> A “Broken Ocean” is obviously an oxymoron, a contradiction in terms. A broken ocean would mean stagnation, stillness where there must be movement. There couldn’t be a better title than “Broken Ocean” which is the title of a song of Bronze Radio Return. 
> 
> When the roof falls in, the sky begins to pour  
> All the ground erodes away with rushing water  
> The tide comes in and swallows up the shore  
> All the land disappears, we walk no longer, we walk no longer
> 
> We float upon a broken ocean  
> Where nothing ripples in its wake  
> We float but nothing stays in motion  
> ‘Til the broken ocean breaks
> 
> When the lesson’s learned and written on a page  
> I’ll buy the book to watch it burn and save the ashes  
> For soon arrives an age, a loss of innocence when we get judged in every way  
> That stop the splashes, stop the splashes
> 
> We float upon a broken ocean  
> Where nothing ripples in its wake  
> We float but nothing stays in motion  
> ‘Til the broken ocean breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, colossal THANK YOU goes to [Ziane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziane/pseuds/Ziane) for all her support, encouraging words and for being an awesome beta-reader. It waters (HA!) my eyes how much time you invested for our writing and on your advise for us. <3

\---

 

The Recall found him through his mobile emitter which he had kept for nostalgia's sake. He should have buried it in the desert when he’d had the chance.  
Winston called on former Overwatch agents.

  
Called on him.

  
Jesse scoffed and downed another glass of cheap whiskey. The liquid burned a trail down into his empty stomach, taking his breath away for a second.  
He was done with this.  
He was done wanting to be a hero.

Looking back, now trying to do the right thing and being a good guy was what had made him follow Reyes in the first place.  
And it had made him screw everything up.  
He was there when Overwatch fell. He had lost Morrison and Reyes and Ana...  
His stomach twisted as it always did when he thought of Fareeha's face that night.  
How she had looked when she read that mission report. Serious, calm, collected. How she hadn't spoken a word in the weeks that followed. And how he couldn't support her, couldn't even do that much. How he couldn't hold her and tell her that everything would be okay - because it wouldn't be okay and in that moment they all knew it.  
Before that, when he hadn’t known any better, they had made him choose. Rot in prison or join Overwatch and it hadn’t been a bad choice per se. Or at least that’s what he had thought at the time.

  
He hadn’t known Reyes.

  
He would get to know him, though. Better than he ever wanted to and over the course of the years Jesse learned to hate him. Until… well, until use and time turned that hate into sympathy. Until Jesse liked fighting by his side. Ten years during which he had been formed, during which Reyes had treated him like a goddamn dog - scolded him when he was too carefree, praised him when he was satisfied with Jesse’s work. He grew into his role eventually and Reyes had had his back.

  
And then Genji came. Or rather he was brought. That particular memory made Jesse down another drink. To this day he couldn’t say what had distressed him more - Ange’s face when she emerged from the OR for the first time, the glint in O’Deorain’s eyes as if she had just been gifted a two-headed labrat or Morrison’s cool facade when he handed Genji over to Reyes.  
The alcohol still burned inside him but it couldn’t burn away the sickness that he always felt when he thought about his first meeting with Genji. Jesse had been so curious to see what had distraught Angela so much, he had found himself in Genji’s room not long after he had been brought in.  
It was so packed full of tubes and wires that it looked as if the guy had been turned inside out and left like that for the whole world to see. There were screens whose green flickers monitored his every breath. Not that Genji had been able to breathe on his own. A machine forced his lungs to expand, pumping oxygen from tanks into his body. Another machine kept his heart going, pushing blood through his lifeless veins.  
He looked like a lump of clay that had been left to Overwatch, or rather to O’Deorain to mold into shape. Some thing that had been handed to Angela who, even weeks after the first operation, could hardly tell if death wouldn’t have been kinder for Genji. Angela, who had to bite the inside of her cheek behind the OR-mask to keep herself from screaming while she transplanted artificial veins and sewed lab-grown skin to him like patches to frayed clothes. She felt numb by the time she switched his remaining bones with implants that would help his body carry the weight of the robotics that kept him alive.  
And when Genji woke after months upon months spent lost in the depths of his artificial coma, he screamed.  
Jesse could still hear that scream.  
Especially when he was trying to drown those memories in as much whiskey as he could find, drinking until he would even forget his own name.  
The scream would make him remember again.

More months passed which Jesse spent caught between Ange’s frantic tries to knit together human and mechanic parts and despair and screams in the night, between Reyes’ and Morrison’s stubbornness and O’Deorain’s sick fascination.  
It’s during that time that he began to understand that Overwatch was going too far in the name of doing good.  
It’s also during that time that he started visiting Genji because he reminded Jesse of himself.  
Nobody gave him any choice either. The mechanic parts inside him kept what was left of his body alive, while Genji himself couldn’t decide if he even wanted to keep breathing.  
Thankfully, Jesse’s stomach untwisted now.  
There had been good times, too.  
That time when Genji and Jesse grew closer, trying to make the best of the situation. Both were young, wound-up, and unable to make their own choices; they were even thankful when Reyes and Morrison stepped in as their strict leaders so they wouldn’t have to think about where to direct their lives to on their own. And, god, were they thankful for Angela’s guilt and the resulting attention she gave them (however wrong that might seem, it was all they could get at the time, so they took it), trying to silence her bad conscience and giving Genji a reason to live. And in turn she appointed Jesse to watch over Genji.

Much later and after a careful, albeit alcohol-soaked, consideration Jesse understood how sick this whole business had actually been. How much they had given to bring peace to the world. And how much the world had taken from them.  
Looking back on it now, he decided that that blasted gorilla could go fuck himself all the way back to the moon for all he cared. Nothing would ever convince him to return to that twisted organisation, no matter how shiny, transparent, and docile this new Overwatch pretended to be.

Only when he heard Genji’s voice (his excited call arrived mere minutes after the Recall had pinged Jesse’s datapad) Jesse knew that, once again, he’d have no other choice.


	2. Like Oil And Water

Whenever everything became too much during those last couple of months and the voices overwhelmed him, when he really needed to be alone, Hanzo fled to the back of the complex that was settled into the mountain side. No, he corrected himself, he retreated. He had never fled.

Out here on the lip of the mountain where the buildings disappeared against the misty horizon, surrounded by the steely grey ocean and and screeching seagulls he could find peace.

Hanzo knelt on the strip of sparse grass that ended in a sheer drop down the cliff side. Below himself he could hear the surf crash against the jagged rocks, a taste of the salty coolness lingered on his tongue. Flowers were blooming around him; a smaller bed with several different kinds of vegetables and herbs gave him a feeling that somebody was taking diligent care of them. With his eyes closed, Hanzo checked his breath, concentrating on the steady rise and fall of his chest, soaking up the calm from the noises of the waves and seagulls. His thoughts slowed to a lazy trickle, while he felt the spirits quiet down in the back of his head - not forgotten, but dormant.

It had been over a year ago when he had found this place by accident, on a desperate prowl for solitude and air. The massive, almost oppressive walls of the complex and the grey, heavy cliffs of the mountainside bore down on him, made him feel restricted, confined. In the ten years following Genji’s death Hanzo had never really been able to stand closed rooms.

The rich, dark colour of the cedarwood and the soft white of the _shoji_ in his home - he had always loved the light and the atmosphere that filtered through them - became unbearable the day Genji died by his hands. Whenever he saw _tatami_ mats his vision shifted to dark blood and there was not a doubt in him that he would never be able to get that out of his mind. The simple beauty of his home had become foreign for him, the complexity of the west was too much for him. He had felt lost for so long that he was sure that nagging feeling wearing him down had to be the punishment for his deeds.

Every year when that pain threatened to drown him he made his way into the heart of Hanamura. There, with the smell of incense and the red fading on the walls, the feeling of home brought an overwhelming loss and it sent new waves of pain through him until his chest was aching and he could barely breathe. It made him feel like he was dead and alive at the same time.

And then Genji stepped into his life again and turned his world around a second time with his voice that was no longer only his own, and his eyes a washed out shadow of the colour they had been before. They knew so much more than Hanzo now. Ever since that, he had harboured a fury deep down that it had been so easy for Genji to just come up and ask Hanzo to join him. As if no time at all had passed and he were still human, the both of them young and laughing and whole.

Hanzo had spent his time in isolation. He had tried to dampen the pain by hunting down the elders of his clan. He had searched forgiveness and only found a bitter feeling when they fell one after the other, struck by his arrows. It was like ash in his mouth, grey, lifeless. Dead.

While his world had frozen to grey stone, his brother had held onto life, first with an undying rage and later - as Genji had told him one night - with the help of his _sensei_. And for him the colours had returned, new and fresh like a second chance. With his barely-human body Genji had managed to be more alive than Hanzo. He had let go of the past, something Hanzo could surely never manage.

 Underneath his skin he could feel the dragons, coiling, whispering to him to _let go!_

And they meant everything: his past, that carefully fostered self-loathing, his restraint. But he couldn’t; it felt too much like surrendering the last shred of control he had, the last bit of power over himself. He didn’t feel ready to do that. Ever since Genji, he hadn’t called upon the twin dragons, terrified he wouldn’t be able to keep them in check, keep himself in check. He was so afraid the dragons would destroy this fragile thing, this new start he was tentatively building for himself like they had destroyed Genji.

Six months ago when desperation rather than hope had made him undertake the journey to Gibraltar - and to Genji - Hanzo had been able to bear much less. There hadn’t been that many people stationed at the base, but even those few agents that lived here were usually too much for him. Most of them already knew each other from a time where Overwatch had been a governmental sanctioned organisation - a time where they had been heroes and were hailed as such. Others had posters of those heroes on their walls when they had been kids and were eager to follow in their footsteps. Hanzo was neither one nor the other; he was an anachronism, ripped from his time and isolated. Regardless of nations, all agents quickly found a common rhythm that he couldn’t fathom.

They were all come together - new and old, it didn’t matter; they laughed together in the mess hall, spent their evenings and downtime with each other, hugged. Especially Agent Oxton liked hugs, Hanzo had to find out. And his brother liked it. Genji had settled into the rhythm as if he had known it his whole life. He laughed with them wholeheartedly and unashamed. More often than not he shared his laughter with McCree.

Hanzo still remembered an especially terrible night when Genji had tried to introduce him to everyone. He remembered their faces, their expressions a mixture of goodwill and suspicion, stiff words and phrases, badly concealed glances in his direction. They were really _trying_ to make nice with him, for Genji’s sake.

Hanzo especially remembered the way McCree looked at him because unlike the others he did not try to hide his contempt. His eyes were a deep brown, honest and everything Hanzo could see in them was cold, remote. It was unyielding, distant, hard like a wall and only melted when McCree would put his arm around Genji’s shoulder and smiled at some old inside joke Hanzo knew nothing about.

Whenever McCree and Hanzo crossed paths during those months, they only exchanged the bare minimum of words necessary to count as a conversation, the rift of events of the past left an unspoken grudge growing deeper and deeper.

 It had been like a lucky break for Hanzo when he found this little refuge, this place of peace and quiet, far enough away from the common areas. Because there were Genji and McCree and every gesture, every word reminded Hanzo that he would never again be able to rebuild that sort of ease he used to have with his brother. During his many escapes then, Hanzo had noticed that almost all Agents had a place where they could go to be alone and undisturbed. He saw McCree leaned against the railing next to the comm tower, enjoying a smoke too often to be a coincidence. A lot of times Genji would be there, too, splitting a bottle of whiskey between the two.

Captain Winston preferred the view from the second floor of the main building from where he could look out over the ocean, while the old Crusader Reinhardt liked to sit in the common room with his friend - that grumpy swedish engineer, Hanzo always struggled to remember his name - a pint of beer in front of each, hollering stories of their past to anyone who would listen.

When Agent Amari wasn’t hitting the gym or working on their internal command structure with Winston, she would disappear to the Med Bay to Dr. Ziegler.

The back of the complex was barely ever used. They weren’t enough people to need bigger transports beside the small heli-carrier and those could land almost everywhere. They didn’t need the big tarmac of the landing field in the back.

There was nothing here beside some containers, dust, and the sun. Or at least that’s how it seemed on a first glance. But when Hanzo returned for a second visit to meditate in the setting sun, he found that someone had dug through the earth. After that, more with every visit, Hanzo found beds with rows of fragile plugs growing in them. Apparently someone was caring for them, too, protecting them from the sun, watering them. He had not come back for a while after that find.

A couple of weeks passed on the base and one particularly uncomfortable run in with McCree in the kitchen had Hanzo’s feet carrying him back to his place. A cool mist was just starting to rise from the ocean, easing the heat of the day somewhat as the sun sunk below the horizon. Hanzo knelt down at the edge and took a deep breath, trying to recentre himself. Suddenly, he heard the scratch of metal over the tarmac of the landing pad. He turned, squinting into the twilight to spot the battered frame of the old Bastion unit that had made its home on the Overwatch base as well.

“Wiu, wiu.”

It almost sounded like a greeting. Bastion was waving at him.

Hanzo was so taken aback that he didn’t react immediately. The green apron around the omnic’s front confused him even more. He glanced over at the flowerbeds, then back to Bastion.

“Bleep!” The light of his sensor glared brightly for a second and Bastion rocked its upper section forward and backward a couple of times as if it wanted to imitate nodding.

In that moment, Hanzo realised two things. One: the rusty bucket that had survived the omnic crisis understood him and used human gestures to communicate. That fact itself was irritating enough, since the thing was supposed to only have one simple kind of programming and that was to kill. Second (and that realisation made Hanzo stare at the flowerbeds in utter puzzlement again): this was Bastion’s garden.

The omnic ambled past him and bent down to inspect the tiny shoot of a cucumber plant. He hummed, apparently, satisfied. Hanzo swallowed.

Slowly, his brain understood that he had found Bastion’s secret place of refuge and even though he was an omnic weapon, Hanzo felt guilt at intruding on him.

He stood, getting ready to quietly leave, but Bastion stopped him with a happy beep and waved him over to stand beside him in front of the flowerbeds. Hanzo didn’t really have another choice than to join the apron-donning turret and marvel over his cucumbers. There was a thin, wooden stick buried in the earth next to the plant so it had something to climb up on. Bastion ran his hand carefully over the delicate leaves and Hanzo couldn’t help but stare dumbfounded at this whole bizarre scene. The gun that was fixed to his right arm angled behind his back, Bastion checked on all of his plants, almost lovingly. Then he flashed Hanzo a cyan glance and disappeared behind the storage containers, beeping merrily. He returned only moments later, carrying a watering can and an old but clean enough mason jar. Handing the jar to Hanzo, Bastion filled it with water and looked at him expectantly.

“Woo, bleep, bleep.”

Hanzo nodded, raising the glass to his lips.

“Kanpai.”

 

Bastion’s small, improvised garden remained their shared little haven. Whenever Hanzo meditated out here or just looked out over the ocean, lost in thought, Bastion’s presence brought him a sense of calm he found nowhere else on the base. Over the course of time Hanzo managed to teach Bastion that he didn’t necessarily need to give him water if he wanted to share a drink with him (he would still chuckle at the scandalised beep Bastion had let out when Hanzo had explained tea to him).

When he heard the familiar heavy steps of the omnic on the concrete behind himself, Hanzo held up a hand as a way of greeting without turning around. He was rewarded with a beep in response.

“Captain Winston gave me command over a mission, set to take place the day after tomorrow. He temporarily made me ‘strike commander’”, Hanzo said more to himself than to Bastion, snorting nervously at the title. He still wasn’t sure if he should be happy about this turn of events or not.

“Bleeep!”

Hanzo had little idea of what Bastion was saying exactly, but this sounded happy. It was usually easy to guess his mood by the volume of the beeps. Hanzo thought he had even heard a sort of questioning or happy note to it, like now. Athena must have given Bastion a simplified protocol for social interaction, which he was expanding on himself. Often enough Hanzo had caught him studying interactions between other agents and later tried to imitate them. They had gotten to a point where Bastion had learned that Hanzo did not like hugs (that the first one had surprised him would have been a massive understatement), while others liked and accepted them. Now Bastion only imitated the movement of hugging an imaginary person to show his delight for Hanzo.

“I don’t know if his trust in me and my abilities is justified, Bastion. It’s one thing to teach tactics to agents, another to actually lead them on a mission.”

“Bleep. Woo Woo!” Bastion pumped his fist into the air.

Hanzo smiled, despite himself. A heavily armed Bastion unit was giving him emotional support. That he would see the day.

When he thought back on the briefing, he sobered immediately. Agents Song and dos Santos, who would come along with him, were happy and excited to be deployed again so quickly. And this time not just held in the back on standby but as a part of the mission. Captain Winston had expressed confidence in them. Hanzo had noticed how taken with them Winston seemed to be, being one of the few agents on Gibraltar who had been part of the old Overwatch.

McCree had crossed his arms in front of his chest and pulled his hat down. Hanzo didn’t need to see his face to figure which expression he tried to hide from everyone.

Genji had expressed his happiness for Hanzo after the briefing but Hanzo couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. Up until now, every mission he had been on had been smaller, covert and positioned him as the sniper in the back, far away from the other agents. Even though he might not exactly like that role, it felt safe to him. He only had to rely on himself and his abilities and if he was good at something it was that. Now he had to take responsibility for these agents and it unsettled him. He hated that feeling and tried to escape with meditation.

When he opened his eyes again, the sun had long set and Bastion had apparently already left without disturbing him. Hanzo stood with a sigh to return to his room and prepare for the night. He would read the intel they had for the mission over and over until he would fall asleep with the datapad in his hand. There was still a tentative hope in the back of his mind that the nightmares of blood and dragons and death would leave him alone if only for this one night. It was only small, though.

  
  
\---

 

Genji was as silent as always when he sat down on the handrail of the watchtower next to Jesse, who felt his presence before he actually heard him. The horizon was dark and dusty – there would be rain soon and the humid air pushed in on the base and its inhabitants.

“If you were going to say something now is the time. I feel that I’m quite the asshole in your hypothetical arguments”, Genji said, placed the facemask on the floor and squinted. The light was odd to his eyes.

Jesse bristled with anger. He hadn’t much to say. Nothing Genji wouldn’t brush off with his oh-so-well-sounding phrases he collected like little, shiny trading cards from Zenyatta.

“He reminds me o‘ Reyes.“

“He’s not like that, Jesse. I wouldn’t have asked him to join us in the first place if I wouldn’t be sure that it’s the right thing.“

“You also thought it’s the right thing not to tell me. Reminds me o’ Morrison.“

Genji nodded slightly and to Jesse’s vast frustration he said:

“And for this I wish to apologize to you.“

Since the recall, since the time he spent with the omnic monk, Genji was water. The problem with water was the absence of friction. Water always gave in. Genji knew that Jesse needed something, someone to release his built up anger against, his frustration and restlessness. But he couldn’t be the one to help him ease those feelings. They took different paths in life, their common ground slowly crumbling over time. The past that had bound them together faded as Genji moved on living and he painfully felt Jesse’s desperate grip on that time, without being able to help him. He wasn’t ready for that, and Genji had to watch his friend struggle like a fish on solid ground. He, however, had to make the right choices, had to think what was the best of all of them. And at this point, reaching out for his brother and bringing him redemption was the only right thing to do.

“You will learn to understand, Jesse. I know this is hard and I myself needed quite some time to learn that. Only as there was no anger left that kept me moving I understood that it was me who had to change. Everything’s constantly changing and if you’re not able to give in, the waters of time will grind a huge rock into sand. Float like water and it will bring you relief. I want to see you peaceful.“

He turned to Jesse, his eyes a watered down brown in a sea of scars from his past. Jesse’s mouth twitched cynically.

“I’m relieved when this here works out for once. I’m relieved when the dead stay in their graves.“

„Take the time to see him through my eyes. He’s devoted and the right path is just in front of him. He has spent ten years in rage and desperation. Now he’s on a crossroads and Overwatch will help him recover. I will help him. And with time“, Genji smiled silently as a light shadow of their common past flicked through his mind, “we will stand side by side. The dragons felt that for a long time yet it was just us who had to understand. I wish you could feel that, too.“

Jesse’s comm made a sound. Athena was a welcomed distraction of Genji’s peace-loving philosophy.

“Incoming file transfer. Preliminary mission report: Dorado.“

“Transfer them to my quarters, Athena.“

“May I suggest to load the data to the computers in the med bay so you can work on two tasks at the same time, Commander?“

Jesse hummed in agreement. Genji had already left so he could go straight to Angela. Jesse looked behind him at the brooding storm front over swelling waters before he found his voice again.

“Any casualties?”

“Negative. Two injured and already under medical attention. Agent Song remains unconscious. Further data is blocked by the Chief Medical Officer.“

Athena’s answer had him release a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. Immediate guilt washed over him that his first thought had been, that at least no one had died.

“Tell Dr. Ziegler I’m on my way. Transfer the data.”

 

The door swished ominously when Jesse stepped briskly into the infirmary. The lights were glaring brightly against the rapidly darkening sky outside. He had braced himself for the worst. It didn’t bode well that Hana was still unconscious, even after receiving field care by Lucio and being treated here by Angela for the better part of the last hour.

His worry was only slightly lessened when he saw Angela stride towards him, still in OR scrubs, her expression serious. But seeing her here meant that Hana was well enough that she could leave her to come see him for a moment. Still, her frown didn’t exactly scream _Good News_ at him.

“Jesse, good. Maybe you can convince Lucio to go get some rest. He needs to heal.”

“Pardon?”

Angela jerked her head back towards the wing of the infirmary that housed the beds with the biotic fields. Only one of them was occupied by a startlingly tiny figure. Her usual pink attire had been switched in favour of the plain infirmary shift. It was easy to forget that, while Hana was as fierce as they come on the battlefield, she was still as good as a child. Barely even 20 years old.

It felt painfully obvious now to Jesse when he saw her thin frame on the entirely too large bed, her dark hair framing her pale face like water, the pink smudged on her cheeks.

What the hell had ever convinced him it was a good idea to send Hana into combat operations? And with Hanzo no less.

He was so caught up with his shock at seeing Hana like that that it took him longer than usual to notice the second shape at the side of her bed. And now he understood what Angela had meant. Because of course the figure was Lucio, sitting hunched over, his head rested on his arms, his dreads spilling over his shoulders onto the white sheets. He seemed to be asleep, only his shoulders were moving slowly in time with his breathing. His right leg was wrapped in thick bandages and splinted so it stuck awkwardly from his body. Something in Jesse’s chest ached when he realised that Lucio was holding onto Hana’s hand tightly. Kids, both of them, too young to be forced to see the horrors of this war.

“He hasn’t left her side since they got here. Fareeha had to physically drag him from the OR so I could work.” The corners of Angela’s mouth were pulled down, she looked weary.

“Can you blame him? Look at her, Ange, she’s just a kid. She shouldn’t be here in the first place.”

To his surprise, Angela managed a weak chuckle. “You try telling her that.”

“Point taken. She gonna be okay?”

“Of course”, Angela said, with enough confidence that it could be mistaken for arrogance. “She’ll be fine. She just needs time and rest. And the biotic field. Lucio, too, but Hana got the worse end of it. To be honest, it was just dumb luck she’s still alive.”

Jesse hummed in his throat as they both just watched the two sleeping figures for a bit.

Eventually he remembered why he had come here in the first place.

“Speaking of dumb luck, Athena said you blocked data from their mission report. Why? What happened?”

Angela inclined her head and gestured for Jesse to follow her back to her desk.

“It’s the recording of their comms. I thought you’d want to be the first one to listen to them.”

“Why, what’s on them?”

“Jesse… Widow was there. She’s the one who shot Hana.”


	3. Between Wind And Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Between wind and water" is a naval term for the part of the ship which is frequently brought above water by the rolling of the ship, or fluctuation of the water's surface. This part is particularly susceptible to damage.

It didn’t take long for Genji to find him. His quarters were the second place he looked (the first being Bastion’s “secret” garden). Hanzo was polite enough to let him in, but in no way capable of having a serious conversation. Or capable of having visitors at all.

“Did you have Angela look you over?”

Hanzo didn’t even spare him a glance.

“Dr. Ziegler had more important things to take care of. It’s fine.”

“And I’m sure you do not want to talk about what happened?” This was no big mystery for Genji. One glance at his brother was enough to tell him that the mission had failed. And that “It’s fine” couldn’t be any further from the truth. Not even bothering with an answer, Hanzo turned away and padded into the bathroom, dragging himself under the shower. At least he hadn’t kicked Genji out yet.

That was something. It was also definitely an indication that he was in a really bad state of mind. Genji sighed and tried starting with something harmless:

“I noticed that you found a place to meditate. That’s a good thing. Everyone needs some place where they can find peace. Let me know should you ever wish for my company.”

The sound of water was rushing loudly, almost drowning out his voice.

“Or that of Zenyatta-sensei. He really helped me, you know. Maybe he could offer you some advice as well.”

The water stopped running abruptly and after a short while, Hanzo emerged from the bathroom, a towel slung around his waist. Still not saying anything, he sat down on the edge of his bed, as far away from Genji as possible. He looked awful. Genji sighed.

“Come on, Hanzo, you gotta help me out a little here.”

He tried to look into Hanzo’s face, all the while ignoring the fact that Hanzo never wanted to look him in the eye. As soon as Genji took off the facemask, Hanzo would avert his eyes and probably never realised how much he was hurting both of them with it.

“I can’t even help myself, Genji.”

“You just have to let go.”

Hanzo shook his head and ran a shaking hand through his wet hair.

“Were I ever to let go, I would have nothing left.”

And with that he included everything: their past, the time they had spent under cherry trees with their mother, the times they had shared their laughter that got scarcer and scacer the older they got, the memories of home when it still was one. He had never seen a way to leave it all behind and start looking toward the future. Had never found a way to accept Genji as what he was and forgive himself.

“If you keep your arrow on the tense bowstring for too long, your hand will shake. You will miss your opportunity to breathe out. You will lose sight of your target.”

“At least I still have control over the arrow.”

“That is a terribly imprudent answer, even for you. If you stay on the path you have chosen, the world will pass you by. It will not wait for you.”

“This is not my world, Genji. I do not belong here”, Hanzo said, burying his face in his hand.

“So, you prefer to grieve for me, even though I am right here next to you, very much alive? You would rather be consumed by your own self-loathing, even though you have already been forgiven? Do you value the past so much more?”

Genji knew he was pushing too hard. He wouldn’t accomplish anything if he put pressure on Hanzo. He exhaled, deliberately slow. Hanzo had gotten to his feet, unable to bear Genji’s proximity. His motions were jittery when he grabbed his training gear from his closet and got dressed in lack of a better thing to do with his hands. His eyes were drawn to his bow in the corner of his room.

“Go. Blow off some steam. I will not keep you - I can only offer to wait for you.” Genji stood as well, sensing that his brother didn’t want him around right now.

“Maybe we could try to talk in earnest when you have cleared your head.

That Hanzo turned towards him, helpless, restless, gave Genji a little bit of hope. It was a bittersweet hope, though, mixed with the memory of a time when he had felt the same. He was hoping for Hanzo’s sake that he could finally leave that feeling behind.


	4. Deep Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being in "deep water" describes being baught in a serious situation.  
> You'll get to read it from both perspectives, switching between Hanzo's and Jesse's POV.

**Med Bay, 8:12 PM**

_As soon as Jesse had made sure that Lucio was alright and Hana was in stable condition and the best thing for her was a long, dream-less sleep under the yellow glint of the biotic field, he took a datapad from the table. He unlocked it with his password and saw the small icon that confirmed Athena’s upload of the mission report._  
_He needed to get an overview on why that mission went FUBAR, but for that he needed to sort through all the information he could get his hands on. His best bet for now was the comm recording so that’s where he started._  
“I’m in position, Commander.”  
“Copy that, Amari. Keep an eye on the exits. And on Song.”  
“Hey! I’m not a child, okay?”  
“Just try not to draw any attention, we’re here to do recon, nothing else. I’m right above you should you require backup.”

 

**Shooting Range, 8:12 PM**

_Hanzo was restless. He kept going over the mission in his head time and time again, trying to find the point at which it had all gone wrong. Where had he failed and endangered his whole team._  
_He adjusted his stance a bit, shifting his feet on the cold, tiled floor of the shooting range. His hands were calm when he put another arrow to the bowstring and drew it back to aim, his thoughts straying back to the mission._  
“I’m right above you, should you require backup.”  
_Hanzo snorted and drew the bowstring back again. And what a great backup he had proven to be. His arms were hurting but it was exactly what he needed right now. He let go. The arrow whistled through the air and hit the bullseye._  
Settling into his perch on the roof looking down onto the inconspicuous warehouse, Hanzo called Amari over the comms. According to Winston’s intel the mission was going to be a walk in the park. Risk assessment looked good, so they took it as an opportunity to train Song and dos Santos in the Overwatch way of handling things.  
Amari had been sent as the backup and support for Hanzo as well. Her task was simple air surveillance. When Overwatch had been officially disbanded this nondescript base had been used to stockpile (and hide) a lot of the organisation’s old arsenal. Through the years since then the UN had stationed guards at the facility until the recent crises and rapidly rising mission numbers saw more and more guards drafted off and never replaced. Athena had intercepted transmissions that spoke of plans to assault the base. She couldn’t find out, however, who was planning that little coup and Winston really wanted to know so he could relocate the goods placed there and prevent unknown forces from stealing weapons they shouldn’t even know of.  
Dos Santos’ and Song’s careless attitude distracted him from going over the mission briefing in his head again. They had been joking and goofing around during the whole flight to Dorado. They were all over the place, not focused on the mission like they should have been. Especially Song was overzealous. This was her first mission without her MEKA. It had been her choice, she didn’t want to rely solely on it, wanted to gather some experience in the field.  
_He should have reined them in long before that, should have demanded order. But they were young and despite what everyone thought he had been young, too, once. He remembered the attitude that youth brought with it. Which only meant that he should have known better._  
_The next arrow zipped from the bowstring and hit the mark right next to the gold. Hanzo grit his teeth._  
_He should have had the situation under control._

 

**Med Bay, 8:23 PM**

_The crackling of static on the comms grew louder while the team stayed silent for a while. There was no video feed but Jesse could well imagine the two young agents creeping from room to room, making their way through the abandoned base. Vitals showed an increased pulse rate on both and aside from a clipped report that they had not seen any guards on the grounds there was only Lucio’s quiet music playing over their muffled footsteps._  
_Jesse shook his head, running over the numbers in his head._  
_Shimada should have noticed. Winston had expected little security. None was real strange. He made a mental note to remember to mention this with Shimada._  
_Strike Commander - what a fucking joke. Jesse snorted, his mouth a thin line as the recording went on._  
“What do you see?”  
“No guards. No light. No power”, Lucio’s voice sounded tense, his body on high alert, “Everything’s quiet over here.”  
“Stay there and hold. I’ll send Amari down to you.”  
“We'll split up to cover more ground.”  
A moment of quiet followed, the Hanzo answered hesitantly: “Affirmative, but stay within range of each other for cover.”  
Jesse could see Shimada’s face in front of him then. Arrogant. Condescending. Too caught up with himself. How the hell Winston could ever think that someone like Shimada was able to watch over the younger agents was beyond Jesse.  
Suddenly a shot cut through the comm recording.

 

**Shooting Range, 8:23 PM**

_The next arrow grazed the moving target dummy and ricocheted to the floor in a clatter of metal. Hanzo blinked the sweat from his eyes. The muscles in his shoulders and arms burned like fire._  
_He could remember that shot._  
“Fuck!”  
“Amari!”  
“It’s nothing. I’m fine. Got enemy contact here, shots fired.”  
“Amari, touch down. Find cover!”  
“It’s Widow.”  
“Amari, get out of the sky, now!”  
_He shouldn’t have been distracted by her that easily. He should have trusted Amari to deal with her on her own. She was the most experienced soldier on the team second only to him. He should have focused on Song and dos Santos. In hindsight he had to admit that the mission had only escalated that badly because he was unable to get the priorities straight. Because he couldn’t trust and demanded blind obedience._

 

**Med Bay, 8:37 PM**

  
_Jesse ran a hand through his hair and massaged small circles on his temples. It was a habitual gesture to combat headaches (of which he’d had more than enough in his life) and even though he didn’t have one right now it helped relieve the stress of listening to his friends, his family get harmed because of the bad choices of one idiot._  
“It’s Widow.”  
_Reeha. Jesse needed to talk to her and soon. He could practically hear her rage seeping through the recording. There was no doubt in his mind that Widow was only taunting Fareeha. That shot had been a sort of knock on the door, a mocking “hello” - she would’ve been able to kill Fareeha if she’d wanted._  
_Immediately the painful memories of Ana’s death came flooding back._  
_Back then Widow had shot her in the eye through Ana’s own scope. And it hadn’t been luck, neither - it had been a taunt. Jesse understood how Fareeha must be feeling. The murderer of her mother had mocked her and her Commander had ordered Fareeha to hide from her. That idiot should have left Fareeha to it. She knew what she was doing, she was no rookie. There was that burning desire for retribution in her that wasn’t exactly wise but definitely powerful. And she had at least earned the try in his book. And Shimada, that goddamn bastard had made her stand down. He had treated her like a wee little kid, for chrissakes._  
_Jesse clenched his fists, the rage burning brighter and sharper the more he heard of the recording._

 

**Shooting Range, 8:39 PM**

_It had been a mistake to think he could make amends. Following Genji had been a mistake. Overwatch had been a mistake._  
_The arrow trembled on his hand; the target dummy was blurring in front of his eyes._  
“Touch down, Amari, that is an order!”  
The detonation of a rocket shook the comms, sending tremors through the ground. Amari had taken the shot and missed. Her rage was palpable as she dropped onto a roof, scrambling for cover.  
“I know where she is, damnit, I can spot her and take her out! Withdraw the fucking order!” she barked into the comm, slapping a new round into her rocket launcher.  
“Stay and hold. Do not move from your cover, Amari!” Hanzo knew that he shouldn’t have argued with her. Not in the middle of the mission, they didn’t have the time. And leaving that aside he was the one in charge, he made the decisions here. If he gave in now he’d completely destroy every last shred of authority he might have had before. Amari hailed from a military family, if he’d let her disobey his command once she’d never accept it ever again. This was about rank and hierarchy.  
Or so he thought. He really wanted to believe it, too, even though the furious, pleading tone of her voice told him otherwise. He had never heard her sound so bitter.  
“You don’t know her, she’s gonna-”  
Hanzo cut her off, the argument getting on his nerves, distracting him from the mission.  
„She has you pinned! You’d be dead before you got a shot out. Stand down, Amari!“  
“But..”  
“That is an order! I’ll try to loop around to flank-“  
He was interrupted by an agitated shout over the comms.  
“Commander, we’re cut off. There are twenty.. No, more!”  
Hanzo cursed through his teeth. He had to make a decision and fast.  
“We can’t take them, Commander, they’re too many!” Hana’s voice was panicked, the sound of heavy boots on concrete wall audible over their fast breathing.  
It took only a few heartbeats until Hanzo bit out his answer.  
“Amari, stay in cover. Do not move! Song, dos Santos hold on, I’m coming to get you.”  
Quickly, Hanzo took in the dark courtyard. Judging by the sound of the shot, Widow was positioned at approximately 9 o’clock behind the roofings. The only exit left accessible was a couple of metres below him off to the right. If he could direct Song and dos Santos towards it he could cover their retreat and they could make for the carrier. The exit opened up into a maze of alleys, providing cover from Widow’s aim. He just had to get them out of the door area quickly.  
_Now that he thought about the layout of the area again, Hanzo knew that Amari had been right to want to distract Widow. He should have trusted her. Wrong call after wrong call, he had misjudged the danger and put his anger at Amari’s disobedience over Song’s and dos Santos’ safety. If only he had reacted sooner. Better._  
_He tasted bitterness on his tongue._  
_Strike Commander - he scoffed angrily and shook his head._  
“Get ready for extraction. I’ll cover your retreat for the doors at the six o’clock side of the building, right behind you”, he barked into the comm and leaped off the roof, a sonic arrow already nocked.

 

**Med Bay, 8:40PM**

“You don’t know her, she’s gonna…”, _toy with you and she’ll make you suffer cruelly and long – McCree finished Fareeha’s sentence in his mind._  
_That had been the exact moment – the mistrust and arrogance that had caused the mission to fail and Hana and Lucio to be injured. Even if he hadn’t been Strike Commander, Hanzo should have trusted Fareeha. He should have swallowed his goddamn pride and fetch the kids when there had still been time. That argument with Fareeha had taken valuable time they hadn’t had the luxury to spare._  
_Jesse made a mental note to revisit the mission report with Winston, so he would see that the team didn’t need that kind of Commander. So he would realise that Hanzo Shimada had been the worst possible choice for the job._

 

**Shooting Range, 8:41PM**

Song’s curse crackled through the comms when the bolt of her gun clicked against nothing, her last clip emptied.  
“I’m out.”  
Hanzo grit his teeth, hearing dos Santos confirm that he was down to his last clip as well. He shook his head to clear it and refocus.  
The sonic ping of his arrow showed him a group of the well-trained terrorists that had surrounded Song and dos Santos and was slowly closing in around their cover. He counted twenty-six in total, cutting them off from the exit he had scouted out for them. Hanzo had to have to clear the way.  
The first few arrows that struck the enemies behind the two agents were a blur to him. His sole focus was on Song and dos Santos as they whirled around and spotted Hanzo. He sent more arrows flying, the attackers scrambling for cover, one more of them fell. Lucio’s speed boost echoed over harsh shouts, then a shot, followed by a sound like metal shattering and a pained groan over the comms. Hanzo realized that the music had stopped before he saw dos Santos stumble. Song caught him before he could fall but the damage was done.  
Several rounds had shredded the amplifier on his back, the skate and armor on his right leg were utterly destroyed.  
Hanzo cursed, sending a volley of storm arrows towards the attackers. It didn’t do much, they had fired blindly from behind cover without providing a target for him, but it did give Song enough space to half drag, half carry the injured dos Santos towards the door below Hanzo.  
Relieved, he made his way down from his perch when, to his surprise, he heard Amari over the comms. “I’m at the carrier. I need your position for extraction.”  
Military through and through, Hanzo thought. After he had forced her to stay in cover, Amari had looped back around to where they had left their carrier, anticipating that they’d need a quick getaway. A small voice in his head whispered something about Amari not deserving the treatment she got from him, but he quickly silenced it and continued on his way down.  
Hanzo slipped the arrow back into the quiver and looked down at his hands. They felt raw and were shivering when he raked them through his damp hair, unsticking wet strands from his sweaty forehead. Underneath the skin of his left arm he felt the dragons coiling in rage. His control on them was slipping. For too long, he had tried to keep them at bay, like he tried to keep everything happening around him in order. The dragons’ restlessness moved like shards through his skin, urging him to let go. And yet he couldn’t.  
The iron grip he kept on himself and the spirits was all he had left, was the only thing left for him to hold onto. He didn’t know what would happen if he did let go and if he was quite honest he didn’t want to know.  
The last time, his dragons had consumed Genji, had torn into him in a rage-filled frenzy and ripped him to shreds and Hanzo still felt every horrible second of it: the snapping of bones like toothpicks, breaking skin, tearing flesh, clawing, biting, terror, that blinding agony.  
That second time in Hanamura where he had set his dragons on an assassin that had turned out to be Genji was almost an afterthought because Genji was there. And it wasn’t important, wasn’t right, because he wasn’t himself, not after his death.  
He wouldn’t let go again. Not ever.  
He couldn’t.  
_Taking deliberately slow breaths, Hanzo knelt down on the tiled floor of the shooting range. He laid out his storm bow beside himself. He had to calm down, needed to regain control over himself._

 

**Med Bay, 8:40PM**

For some time, Jesse only heard static in the recording, interrupted by the sharp snaps of arrows being released from Hanzo’s bowstring. He was staring fixedly at the dark window as he listened to the (surprisingly sensible he had to admit begrudgingly) escape plan. Still, Shimada shouldn’t have let it come this far in the first place.  
Things got hectic then, distant shouts and shots piercing through the base white noise. Red warning signs blared from the vitals screen, there was a grunt and Jesse flinched, realizing that this was the moment Lucio had been hit. The rest sort of blurred together. Fareeha getting their position, a heavy metal door being pushed open, the sounds of footsteps, the carrier arriving. Still, Jesse couldn’t stop thinking, the situation whirling round and round his head. He was almost certain that Shimada was wondering the same thing himself. With all the running and chaos, enemies still behind them, the carrier already in sight, Shimada surely was asking the same question. He was an expertly trained assassin, a sniper himself, he must be, right?  
Jesse’s heart was beating painfully in his throat as he waited, listening, unable to do anything about the imminent tragedy unfolding on the comm recording as his racing mind slowed to a screeching halt.  
Where was Widow?

 

**Shooting Range, 8:43PM**

Relief had flooded through Hanzo when he heard the carrier arrive. There was a tiny flicker of hope that this mess would work out alright after all. He just had to get them out of here and everything would be alright. Song and dos Santos were close behind him when he landed in the dusty courtyard. Dos Santos looked pale and strained, but he was still moving, his useless amplifier dangling from its cord as he limped along supported by Song.  
Hanzo jerked his head toward the carrier to signal the two to keep pushing through to Amari. He stood where he had landed, arrow already notched, his bow pointed towards the door. The dragons were crawling beneath his skin, growling, hungry, desperate to be released and obliterate his enemies. He didn’t want them, didn’t want to set them onto the soldiers, not because he cared about them, but because he couldn’t control it, couldn’t keep them at bay. How could he unleash the spirits with allies this close, he didn’t know what they’d do.  
The first goons already poured out of the warehouse, their eyes widening at the sinister blue glow that was starting to swirl around his arm. Hanzo gritted his teeth, his hands shaking with the effort to hold them back.  
The arrow never left his hand.  
Before his mind even realized what was happening, his body moved. Driven by pure instinct honed over years of training, his torso twisted to the side at the same time that he heard a shot crack and whistle past him. He spun, bringing his bow around to shoot the arrow at the rooftop with the shelter on it instead. There in the shadows he could just make out the slender silhouette of the sniper, snapping him a mocking salute, then she was gone; his arrow only cut through empty air.  
A hasty mental self-check revealed that she hadn’t hit him, he felt no pain. Then why the cockiness? He also thought he had heard the metallic ping of a projectile hitting concrete. She couldn’t possibly…  
“Hana..!” Dos Santos’s voice, wavering, shocked, terrified, made Hanzo whirl around, already reaching for a new arrow. His brain needed a moment to understand the situation in front of his eyes.  
Song and dos Santos stood a couple of feet behind him on their way to the waiting carrier. dos Santos leaned against Song, his face a mask of horror. He was staring at Song who in turn was looking at Hanzo.  
A tiny tremor went through her body, her hand fluttered to her chest and suddenly there was red oozing from between her fingers, thick and dark, staining the front of her suit. She held his gaze and for a moment everything seemed to stutter to a halt. There was no room for the flying bullets or the men at the door, he only saw the brown of her eyes, widened in shock and confusion. Then the moment was gone, Song’s knees gave way and she collapsed against dos Santos, almost toppling them both to the ground.  
Shots from assault rifles zipped past him but still Hanzo didn’t move.  
The sound of a rocket exploding dangerously close, the heatwave and the roaring in his ears mixed together with the screams and the growling of the dragons in his head. Somewhere in his mind he vaguely knew that he should move, but he couldn’t.  
Song’s big, scared eyes changed into Genji’s gaze as he lay before him dying. Past and present seemed to bleed together and crashed into him like a tidal wave. It left him numb.  
Now, here on the floor of the shooting range, the initial numbness was gone. The only thing left was an overwhelming nausea and the feeling of teetering on an edge, not knowing whether he was going to fall or not.  
He closed his eyes tightly, trying to push it away.  
“Song made it. She survived. Genji’s alive. Breathe. Calm down.”  
But the little voice of reason was drowned out by the panic and pain and fear. It couldn’t quiet his thoughts or the guilty conscience that pierced through his chest like a spear.  
This was bad.

 

**Med Bay, 8:45PM**

_The shot was deafening on the recording and even though he had known it was coming, Jesse flinched at the horrifyingly wet sound of a bullet ripping through flesh. He swallowed, paused the recording and put the pad away._  
_The biotic field was humming quietly in the back of the med bay and hearing the slow, rhythmic breathing of Hana and Lucio helped soothe his frayed nerves. There in the half-light the green lines on the screen rose and fell in a nice, calm pattern, painting a steady heartbeat. The soft blue glow that meant Athena’s sensors watching over them, made everything seem unreal, like a scene from a movie. As if he was watching through a mirror._  
_Jesse sighed heavily and picked up the datapad again._  
_It had only taken Fareeha a couple of seconds to realise that Hanzo was in no way fit to defend against the attackers pouring out of the doors. She aimed and fired the helix rockets of the carrier right into the throng of men starting towards her teammates._  
Jesse could hear the detonation multiplied through the comms, then curses in Arabic but her voice was still calculating, ever the professional: “God damnit! Lucio! Can you make it to the carrier with Hana?”  
Lucio’s reply was more of a grunt than anything else, but it was sort of affirmative, so Fareeha just rolled with it.  
“Commander!” she yelled into the radio again, knowing that the rocket wouldn’t hold them off for long, “we have to leave, now!”  
Jesse tapped the screen and brought up the vitals monitoring. Four names glared back at him, one blinking yellow, one red. He tapped Hana’s name – Athena’s sensors showed a weak pulse, she was barely able to pick up on her breathing. Jesse knew that Lucio saw the very same information on his mobile emitter. He also knew that, despite his own injuries, Lucio was functioning on autopilot, his work efficient and methodical as he hauled Hana’s lifeless body to the carrier.  
Where the hell was Shimada?  
Jesse pulled up Shimada’s vitals. The data showed a sudden drop in blood pressure paired with a dramatic spike in pulse rate. A yellow-coded note by Athena suggested that Shimada was in a state of shock. Jesse scratched his head. This was strange. He couldn’t understand why Shimada would be unable to react. The guy had been trained rigorously to function for the better part of his wretched existence, so why would that situation throw him so much? Why would he fail right then and there?  
“Hanzo, fuck’s sake, move! We gotta get out of here!” That was Fareeha again, barking into the comms over the noise of bullets raining down onto the carrier’s hull. The only answer she got were vague grunts that Jesse thought were Lucio’s.Other than that, there was only static.

 

**Shooting Range, 8:45PM**

Hanzo couldn’t remember how he made it onto the carrier in the end. He knew that by the time he got there, dos Santos had laid out Song on the metal floor and was starting to cut open her overalls. There was blood bubbling bright and red from a dark hole just below her collarbone and Hanzo couldn’t help but stare at it. He had expected a shot to the chest to bleed heavier. There was something that sounded suspiciously like the voice of his father in the back of his head talking about the difference between arrow and gunshot wound, something about damage and force and entry-and-exit-points, when the carrier gave a mighty lurch as Amari pulled it sharply into the air, more shots bouncing off of them on their ascent.  
Then the roaring of the dragons in his head drowned out everything else. His fingers felt numb when he rubbed them together. The inside of the carrier started to blur in front of his eyes, dos Santos and Song, the pool of blood on the floor and the blue glow from the cockpit shaping into one massive wall of sensory overload that threatened to crush him.  
There were voices talking, a soft humming of a low, soothing voice that sounded suspiciously like a lullaby, doubled up by the comm receiver in his ear, but he didn’t understand, he couldn’t, everything was muffled and too loud and there was this beeping. And pain, god, the dragons seared trails of burning fire and rage through his chest and down his arm and it hurt; he was so goddamn cold.  
“It was wrong.” He couldn’t tell if he had actually said it out loud, but suddenly the words were there and the chaos around him went deadly quiet. “You should have stuck together, should have stopped them before they surrounded you.”  
Hanzo’s head was pounding. With his words the rest of the warmth left his body. He didn’t know what he was saying anymore, couldn’t stop; the rage of the dragons became his own rage, his body trying to protect itself, trying to cope with the situation the only way he knew how, the only strength he had left – his anger.  
“You were the one responsible for her. Not Lucio! If only you’d have had a little more trust in your team…” Amari sounded like she was barely keeping her temper in check, but Hanzo cut her off.  
“I gave you a direct order. You disobeyed and argued with me, costing us valuable time.” He knew he was yelling and he didn’t mean to, but he had nothing left to stop it.  
“How am I supposed to trust my team to function if you can’t even follow simple orders?”  
Hanzo heard Amari scoff and a fresh wave of rage hit him.  
“See, this is why we didn’t want someone like you in Overwatch!”  
He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, this was never going to end well, but he couldn’t help it, the dragons (and something else, something he refused to think about) itching for a confrontation.  
“Someone like me?”, he repeated through his teeth.  
Amari’s voice was hard and without hesitation when she answered, just as riled up as Hanzo was.  
“Someone who murders people in cold blood without batting an eye. Do you even feel anything?”  
Hanzo grit his teeth, his fists balled at his side. He didn’t know how it happened but suddenly he was on his feet.  
“You’re walking on thin ice there, Amari. You have no idea what you’re talking about…” His snarl came out dangerously quiet.  
“Oh, I don’t, do I. You know what? You don’t belong to Overwatch and you don’t deserve a team. Hell, you wouldn’t know what to do with a team if you had one! We came as your team and look where that got us! Hana’s dying because of this!”  
The sharp reply died on his tongue, her words echoing in his head as if she had screamed them into his ear.  
‘You don’t belong.’  
He never had. Even when he had tried his damndest to please his family he had never belonged. Not belonging was a feeling he was used to. And he was goddamn sick of it.  
Lucio interrupted himself in his humming, his voice cut through Hanzo’s whirling thoughts.  
“Look, Hana’s not gonna die, but I need help and I’m gonna need it now!”  
At first, Hanzo didn’t move. He couldn’t. Amari’s words had clawed at a wound he had worked years to suppress. His head was spinning, his stomach churning as the thought sharpened in his mind that ignoring it away was becoming impossible. No, not impossible. Just harder, yes, he just had to focus and calm his mind, to get himself back under control.  
After what felt like an eternity, Hanzo turned.  
Dos Santos had both his hands pressed to Song’s chest, some weird sort of synthetic scrap lying on her stomach. There was still blood pooling underneath her, the liquid spreading lazily and Hanzo didn’t know what to do. His mind was struggling, refusing to acknowledge the reality. She seemed so small, her face was pale, unmoving. Her expression was almost relaxed if it hadn’t been for that tension in her thin features that revealed that something was very, very wrong. Red was splattered over the pink war paint on her cheeks.  
Slowly, very slowly Hanzo’s gaze wandered until he met dos Santos’ wide, pleading eyes.  
“Please, Commander.”

 

**Med Bay, 8:53PM**

The rest of the recording faded from static into quiet instructions from Lucio until it eventually cut off. Even after the audio file had ended Jesse sat there stunned into silence. He could hear his pulse rush in his ears and little else as the scenes replayed over and over in his head like some sort of morbid movie that he couldn’t fucking shut off.  
He almost huffed out a mirthless laugh. The fucking gall of this guy, throwing bullshit accusations at the people he failed when they needed him the most. It made Jesse's blood boil. He slammed the datapad down onto the desk with more force than he meant to. Immediately he put his hand over it, shooting a guilty glance towards the occupants of the med bay. They were still asleep, thank god.  
Jesse wanted to pace, wanted to move, but he couldn't do it here, didn't want to disturb the kids’ recovery. As quietly as he could with all the rage bubbling inside him, he stood up and marched towards the exit. Angela was nowhere to be seen when he left. He hadn't noticed her retreating to give him space, he didn't know where she had gone, but she wasn't here anymore. He couldn't care right now, anyway. With every step he took, his anger just grew, the recording, the shot, that gasp echoing over and over and over in his head.  
This was all Hanzo's fault, because he was a conceited, arrogant piece of shit who didn't give a rat's ass about anyone but himself. Not even his own damn brother. His rage suddenly spiking, Jesse dug his fist against the nearest wall.  
The pain shooting up his arm managed to somewhat sober him up for now. He had to find something to calm down. Oh, he was going to give that bastard a piece of his mind but he had to be calm and controlled about it, push behind that blasé facade and crack him open, see if he could somehow get to him, make him realise, get him to fucking leave for good. He wouldn't be able to do that if he was basically seething with rage, the intense need to tear him apart piece by piece needling under his fingernails. No, he needed to clear his head and in that moment Jesse realised that there was only one way to do that. The best way. His favourite way.  
With a grim smirk on his lips Jesse made his way towards the shooting range.


	5. Blood In The Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Blood in the water" originates from the emergence of predators like sharks when blood is spilled in the water. In the idiomatic sense the phrase refers to the exhibition of a weakness in front of a stronger opponent.
> 
> Since this was created for the McHanzo Reverse Bang 2018 it all started with an image.  
> I don't want to spoil you, so read the chapter, enjoy it and THEN hit this:  
> [There is ART!](http://captainneedsnosleep.tumblr.com/post/177521581384/ladies-and-gentlemen-im-a-lousy-writer-but-i)

None of Jesse’s anger has dissipated as he stormed through the corridors that were gradually emptying the closer he got to the back of the complex where the shooting range was located. The living quarters and common area were in the wing on the other side, directly mirrored to the range, so there really was no reason for anyone to accidentally wander over here.  
A good thing that was, too; if he had crossed paths with someone he would have snapped at them or picked a fight, he hadn’t quite decided yet. His hands were itching to be balled up into fists, to hit and beat, to inflict pain and draw bloody patterns on skin. It almost threw him back into his old Deadlock days where violence was a daily occurence and sometimes, when this new Overwatch made him feel especially out of place, he caught himself getting lost in the memories of how damn good it had been to hurt with his bare hands, how alive it made him feel.  
He missed it sometimes if he was entirely honest with himself and not entirely sober anymore. In the morning then, when his head was aching and he felt like dying he was reminded of all the bullshit he had endured back then and how much better this new Overwatch really was, with Mei’s soft giggles and the Junkers’ chaos, Genji’s peace and Reinhard’s stories. He really didn’t want to go back, but he didn’t want to think about that right now. He had never been so lost and wishing he was back where he knew who he was as he did now.  
All that frustration, all that confusion just kept building and building inside him without anywhere to go. Fareeha had suggested he join her in the gym. Jesse had never hated anything more in his life. (That was a lie but he granted himself that little exaggeration) The shiny, almost surgically gleaming room made him feel trapped, the physical exercise was boring and annoyingly repetitive. Yeah, he didn't want any part of that and Reeha had never asked him again. Eventually he had found out that the way he could relax best was by putting Peacekeeper through her paces on the shooting range until his fingers ached and his vision blurred with exhaustion. That was all the exercise he needed, no matter what Fareeha said.  
Obliterating some target dummies seemed like the perfect thing to blow off steam and get himself back under control enough to rip Shimada a new one only metaphorically, not literally. Like he wanted to do now.

  
Huffing out a frustrated sigh, Jesse hit the panel for the shooting range. The door slid open, revealing a shadowy dimness that meant one of two things: One, somebody had not switched the lights off when they had left or two,-and Jesse did not like this possibility at all- the shooting range was currently occupied and whoever was in there didn’t bother switching on full lighting. Jesse hesitated for a moment. As much as he really didn’t feel like running into anyone right now he was way too wound up to consider doing anything else. He would just trust no one was here (and on the off chance somebody was in there he hoped his foul mood would chase them off).  
Squaring his shoulders, Jesse stepped down the small flight of stairs and rounded the brick wall, entering the shooting range properly. On first glance it seemed deserted but then his eyes caught on a dark shape and Jesse froze. There in the back where barely any light reached the corners, kneeled Hanzo Shimada, his legs tucked underneath him, hands resting palm down on his thighs. His bow was laid out beside him; he seemed deep in meditation. His face was closed and calm as if he hadn’t just went and gotten two of his teammates injured and jeopardised the entire mission.  
His rage flared up red hot and immediate, burning through Jesse like wildfire; his entire plan to confront Shimada when he had collected himself went flying out the window.  
“So, this is where you’ve been hidin’ to lick your wounds, Strike Commander”, Jesse spat the title with as much contempt as he could muster.  
His long legs carried him towards the back wall of their own accord until he was close enough to see Shimada’s face. Aside from a small tilt of his head, he hadn’t moved at all. Hell, Jesse didn’t even know if he had heard what he’d said.  
Arrogant bastard.

  
“Hey, are you listening to me? Fuckin’ joke.”, his snarl was low, full of disdain. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You also sat contemplatin’ like that when ye pulled yer fucking sword from yer brother’s dying body? Are you here to destroy his new family as well?”

  
Suddenly, several things happened at once: Hanzo’s head snapped up, his eyes glaring at Jesse and in one fluid motion he was on his feet, all but exploding forward to give Jesse a hard shove.  
He was only momentarily surprised and regained his balance quickly, a humourless grin stretching his lips.

“So it lives. Athena?”

The blue light around the corner of the room flared up.

“Yes, Commander?”

  
“Disable comms, lock the door, stop vital signs monitoring.”  
For a long moment there was no answer.

  
“Athena.”  
She almost sounded reluctant when she finally responded.

  
“Affirmative, Commander.”

  
His eyes returned to Shimada’s, both of them shaking with rage and Jesse’s grin broadened.  
“Whaddaya gonna do, huh? Murder me, too?”

  
Jesse saw him grit his teeth, his fists clenching at his side.

  
Then Hanzo lunged.

 

Hanzo could only remember one time where he hadn’t been in control.  
Only once, when he had turned his sword against his brother. Everything had only gone downhill for him afterward but he had stayed in control. Always. No matter what his family or the elder council had thrown at him he had never once lost his grip again.  
Through every hit, every mission, he had never wavered and eventually, without himself really noticing, he had slowly grown cold and detached. As if he was frozen in place, unfeeling, no will of his own, just a tool. A weapon.  
His dragons had become the polar opposite, hardly able to be contained, unrestful and violent. Not that Hanzo wasn’t violent - his main purpose was killing people after all, he had been bred for that - but his violence always had a purpose, was calm and controlled. Necessary.  
The disquietude his dragons were causing in him made it so much harder to keep holding on. But it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He had endured worse and he would endure this, too. Except, in the quiet, lonely hours of the night it felt as if he was being torn apart from the inside, shattered to pieces, not wholly at one with himself anymore.  
Control… it had always been drilled into him as the most important thing; he had to keep it always, never lose focus, always in control, always, always…  
When his fist hit McCree square in the jaw with a sickening thud, Hanzo knew somewhere deep inside him that for the second time in his life he was about to lose control.  
McCree’s head snapped back violently, a huff of air being pushed out of his lungs by the surprise. He staggered, only a few steps, then he had caught himself again. A wicked smirk formed on his lips as he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. Jesse had not expected that reaction. He had not expected any reaction from Shimada at all and it gave him a grim satisfaction that he could push his buttons enough to lose his temper. That goddamn self-discipline of his had always infuriated Jesse, ever since he had arrived on the base. This air of superiority, this arrogance made Jesse want to shake him until his teeth rattled.  
To see him so out of it now filled him with something akin to glee.  
Jesse cocked his head, grinning even wider.

  
“Huh”, he growled, then the smile fell abruptly from his face and his fist snapped forward, catching Shimada in the chest, a second jab splitting the skin of his lower lip. Jesse’s mechanical fingers curled into the front of Shimada’s shirt, his right hand hitting every bit of him he could reach. Shimada reacted only lamely, catching the odd blow with his forearm, clawing, pushing at Jesse until his back hit the wall.

  
“Fuckin’”, Jesse snarled and yanked his knee upwards into Shimada’s gut. He groaned in pain, his grip on Jesse loosening. Jesse ducked under a sloppy blow, driving his shoulder into Shimada’s body while harshly pulling at his legs.

  
Hanzo hit the floor with an awful thud, his head smacking against the hard floor. For a few moments he saw stars. Then there was a sudden, heavy weight on his chest and the punches fell again. He was gasping for air, barely able to breathe as he tried to shield his head with his arms.  
Through the hits, Hanzo could hear McCree growl words. His brain was struggling to understand.

  
“Everyone you were supposed to protect gets hurt. And it’s all your fault. Hana almost died because of you! She’s just a kid!!”  
McCree’s assault was vicious, merciless and the pain of it made Hanzo feel alive. He didn’t have time to think; adrenaline shot through his veins like fire.  
In a single, violent motion, Hanzo jerked his pelvis upwards, throwing McCree off balance and forward. He quickly grabbed him around the waist and rolled them both around.  
Hanzo was on top now, hurrying to crawl up on top of McCree’s body. Gripping the collar of his shirt tightly in both hands, Hanzo brought their faces close together.

  
“Hana is a soldier”, he spat, relishing at the contempt that twisted McCree’s face at his words, “you are mistaking soldiers for family. Soldiers die in wars.”

  
He could almost taste McCree’s rage. It was like a drug for Hanzo, he wanted more, couldn’t get enough of that sick, twisted feeling that spread through him with every hit and every snarl, every pang of pain that made his vision blur.  
Baring his teeth in a low snarl, McCree jerked his head forward, crashing his forehead into Hanzo’s. Hanzo groaned and the next second he felt himself being propelled to the side. He rolled and overshot, landing hard against the wall. Then McCree was there again, dragging him to his feet and slamming him up against the wall.  
McCree’s face was a mask of fury; he was breathing heavily. Hanzo smirked then, and McCree’s expression all but faltered in surprise.

  
“Is that the best you can do?”

  
McCree let out a roar that was almost frightening and hauled Hanzo across the room with a strength that surprised even Hanzo. He tried to break the fall with his hand but landed hard nonetheless, pain shooting up his shoulder and knee. His world spun for a moment, then McCree was on him again, his thighs straddling Hanzo’s hips.  
And suddenly his hands were around Hanzo's neck, squeezing and squeezing tighter still.  
Hanzo closed his eyes, his body twitching against McCree’s grip on its own accord, its instinct to survive stronger than anything else. The pain that seared through his throat with every constricted breath was all Hanzo could concentrate on. All he wanted to concentrate on. The dragons were roaring so loudly in his head he couldn’t think.

  
“You with your arrogance and your fucking calmness, as if nothing ever rattles you. It’s like you’re a fucking statue or something, what the hell! It’s infuriating, how can you stand yourself?”, McCree growled and when he still didn’t get an answer he scoffed. Hanzo had stopped struggling against him but he was too far gone to really notice.  
Letting go like this was like bliss to Hanzo. The turmoil in his head seemed to be pushed to the side, leaving a quiet nothingness. He didn’t need to control himself, didn’t need to keep his grip, he could just feel. Feel the pain of every hit, the weight of McCree’s body on top of him, the hard lines of his callused hands pushing Hanzo’s breath out of his body, the friction of their bodies, like two wild animals fighting for their lives. There was darkness closing slowly around the edge of his vision and Hanzo was beyond caring.  
It should have surprised him, how much he liked hearing McCree growl threats at him before he attacked, but if he was quite honest with himself (and what else was left for him really?) he wasn’t surprised in the slightest. He had felt suppressed in his own head, it had become unbearable, he needed out, wanted to stop thinking, wanted to stop.  
With a weak strain that needed more effort than Hanzo thought it would, he managed to drag his tired arm across both of McCree’s and… he couldn’t really tell what he did, whether he pushed or pulled but the pressure on his throat increased; without actually consciously doing it, he angled his head slightly back, baring his throat against McCree’s hands. It was a small movement, nothing more, but it still got him a surprised grunt from McCree, who momentarily loosened his grip. Hanzo gasped, the air that rushed through his abused larynx with every desperate breath hurting more than it should. There was a harsh sound and it took him a moment to realise that he was laughing. It was rough and humourless, more like coughs in every way, not really counting as laughter, but there it was.

  
His body trembled against McCree, the heat between them and the drain of their exertion leaving his shirt damp with sweat.  
McCree leaned forward, shifting his weight atop Hanzo and suddenly one of his hands was gone, thudding to the floor right next to Hanzo’s head. Hanzo opened his eyes; McCree’s face was close, twisted in a frown, his eyes dark. His breath hit Hanzo’s cheek in rapid pants.

  
“The hell is wrong with you?”, McCree huffed, his voice so incredulous it almost drowned out the rage. His forehead was glistening, the heat radiating off of him searing.  
Indeed, what was wrong with him? Hanzo must be going insane, surely. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, he just knew that something was very wrong. Twisted and backwards, god, how did he ever come to this point?  
He was a fool, that much was certain. He was a fool to ever believe he could be “better”. A better human being, a better brother. A brother at all.  
Their bodies pressed together, the heat building between them like the fire that burned within.

  
Yes, Hanzo had liked this, letting go, giving his control up to McCree (or anyone, really, it was just coincidence that McCree had been there at the moment, right) and just hurt and get hurt in return. And what’s worse, he felt he deserved this. Everything: the pain, the abuse, the humiliation. He deserved everything that had happened to him for being so foolish to believe he could ever be good.  
Yet, at the same time there was this huge tidal wave of guilt that threatened to drown Hanzo. He shouldn’t be surprised, really, it was nothing new. It was his fault he was always making the wrong decisions. He should have been the perfect Yakuza heir and all he ended up being was a failure who couldn’t form normal human relationships, not even with his brother who had forgiven him for (technically) killing him ten times over and he couldn’t change a goddamn thing about it and it hurt.  
Just when had all of this become so much? It had built up over the years of twisting and bending over backwards to fit into a role he could never really fill and it had become too much for him to handle without him even noticing. And suddenly, here on the cold floor with the panting man on top of him, holding him down, so close (too close), everything fell into place for Hanzo as if he had just solved a massive puzzle that used to always make his head hurt.

  
McCree flinched when Hanzo let his arm drop to McCree’s wrist. He had expected, anticipated, really, that Hanzo would start throwing punches, start fighting back finally. He wanted this fight, wanted to tear into him until his knuckles were bloody and his body sore. But to his neverending surprise, Hanzo simply wrapped his fingers around McCree’s wrist so lightly as if he was soothing a wounded animal.

  
“Because it’s convenient, is it not? Because if you had no one to hate more than yourself, you wouldn't know what to do.”  
Hanzo wasn’t talking to McCree, not really. At the same time, though, he could never admit this to himself. He knew it was true but it was difficult to accept. Saying it to someone else was easier. His voice was broken, a stark contrast to the abuse they had subjected each other to just moments before.  
Jesse was only stunned for a moment, then he gritted his teeth, his words coming out in a low snarl:

  
“Shut up! Just shut up!”

  
“No.”

  
Hanzo’s hand remained steady on Jesse’s wrist, his thumb soft against his pulse. It threw Jesse off balance, so much so that he even forgot he meant to strangle Hanzo in earnest. Then he looked at Hanzo’s face, really looked.

And suddenly he felt very cold. Normally he couldn’t see anything in his expression, unreadable and impenetrable, like a sheet of ice. Now though… Now Jesse could read everything. It was so much and so unexpected that Jesse didn’t really know what to do with what he had seen. The hard lines of Hanzo’s face had melted into a softness that looked foreign on him, his brows were drawn together in a line that showed… vulnerability? Hurt? - Jesse couldn’t tell, had never seen it on Hanzo before - but Hanzo’s eyes, fuck, those eyes stared at him with such despair in them that his mouth ran dry and he swallowed.  
What was happening?  
He had started this with the firm intention to beat every inch of that infuriating mask of indifference from Hanzo’s smug face and he was (or rather, had done so) and he was supposed to feel elated now but everything just felt so goddamn wrong.

  
“You fuckin’...”

  
He wanted to tighten his grip but his hands were shaking. Even his voice wouldn’t hold the threat he so desperately wanted to shout at the man beneath him.  
Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong! Jesse was so preoccupied that he didn’t even register Hanzo lifting a hand until he could feel the light touch of his fingers against his cheek. His breath caught in his throat.

  
“It hurts, does it not?”

  
He was right, goddamn that bastard, it hurt alright. But it was a different sort of pain, not like punches or wounds or the brutality of a beatdown. It was rather the pain of the bitter, stomach-turning insight into his own mind. Hanzo’s fingers were burning against his cheek and it felt as if every fiber of his body was drawn towards that burning, drawn like a moth was drawn to the light - fascinating, but ultimately fatal.  
His mind didn’t want to realise, refused the truth, but his body knew what he was missing and it was planning on collecting its due.  
In hindsight, Jesse had to admit that he hadn’t really been thinking. If he was quite honest with himself he hadn't thought anything through, really, since he had set foot in the shooting range.  
Jesse also didn’t think now when he bent down with a low, broken growl and kissed Hanzo.  
There was nothing artful or elaborate about it. It was hard and fast and messy, their teeth clashing together, sharp edges cutting into lips and then there were Hanzo’s hands in Jesse’s neck, pulling him down, impossibly closer, almost painful as they dug into Jesse’s skin.

  
Jesse’s body moved without his consent, pressing all of his weight along with his anger against Hanzo, pinning him to the floor. Hanzo pushed back, giving his own pent up rage a resistance to chafe against. He reached up, following Jesse’s mouth, biting down on his lower lip, not letting him go. Jesse’s hips jerked against Hanzo, the friction of their bodies colliding, making his head swim. His cock was already hard, which - while surprising - made it easy to ignore the voice in his head that yelled at him to get out, tried to appeal to his sanity for fuck’s sake. So he stayed put, right there where he was, sprawled out on top of Hanzo, rutting against the hardness that was clearly noticeable through Hanzo’s sweatpants as well. An absurd glee teased at the back of his mind that Hanzo had lost control over himself just as much as Jesse had, if not even worse and he wanted to laugh, but all that came out of his mouth was a low moan, uncontrolled, demanding.  
Hanzo’s fingers tugged at the fine hairs in the back of Jesse’s neck, trying to pull him closer or get him off of himself, Jesse couldn’t tell. He also didn’t care. He just growled and retaliated in kind, ducking his head down to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of Hanzo’s neck. His reward was a sharp hiss and a desperate bucking of Hanzo’s hips against Jesse.  
That noise went directly to Jesse’s cock and he grinned against Hanzo’s neck. With his free hand he raked over Hanzo’s taut chest, his nipple hard beneath the damp shirt. Jesse rolled it between his fingers and thumb, twisting, pinching until he could feel Hanzo’s breath hot somewhere against his neck, hear his barely-there sigh.

  
It had felt good to let his rage run free for a bit, to let Hanzo have it, hear him grunt in pain, feel the familiar give of flesh against his balled fists. He had relished that, damnit and hadn’t felt the least bit guilty. How it happened, then, that he was currently getting off on the moans of the man beneath him, was beyond Jesse, but he would be damned if he’d make one move to stop it. Those rough pants against the hollow of his neck, Hanzo’s hand in his hair, his grip digging firmly into Jesse’s skin had him reeling.  
He shivered in pleasure when Hanzo’s lips found his neck, gentle at first, brushing soft patterns; he could barely feel them. Then there were teeth scraping over the sensitive skin and Jesse’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. He forgot what had led to this, forgot the concrete below them, the bruises, the blood from Hanzo’s lip that he could still taste on his tongue, god, everything made his head swim.

  
“Gh..fuck!”, he murmured not knowing if it was meant as a curse or a challenge and then Hanzo’s lips were back on his mouth and he didn’t care anymore.

He sucked Jesse’s lower lip between his teeth and bit down, a sweet, inviting sort of pain that made a shiver run down Jesse’s back. He felt Hanzo’s finger press into his spine, press lower still, down the curve of his hips, digging into his ass, pulling him even closer. Jesse hummed deep in his throat as the downward movement rubbed his cock along Hanzo’s again; the eager jerk of Hanzo’s hips against him betrayed what Jesse had to coax out of him otherwise.

  
Their eyes met, for a brief second only and it was a reassurance for them both. There was no uncertainty, no hesitation between them; they were both too far into this to give a damn how appropriate this was. And the door was locked after all.

  
Jesse reached one hand down between their bodies, fumbling with his belt buckle. Hanzo’s fingers were there, suddenly, snaking around Jesse’s hand, deftly unfastening his jeans that had been too tight for way too long. When they brushed against his aching crotch, Jesse moaned, his eyes fluttering shut. This was almost too much and it was all Jesse could do to hang onto his questionable sanity and let his body tell Hanzo how much he wanted - how much he needed - too much right now.  
In between low, heady gasps and Jesse’s desperate tries to get more, Hanzo had pulled Jesse’s cock free from his jeans and boxers, wrapping his fingers around the hard shaft. His grip was too firm, almost crushing, pushing just past the fine line between pleasure and pain. Jesse drew a hissing breath through clenched teeth. His hips moved on their own accord, pushing into Hanzo’s hand harder, deeper and his mind shorted out trying and failing to put into coherence how badly he had craved for a person’s touch like this.  
But Hanzo understood without the words. He moved his fist slowly up and down Jesse’s cock; his other hand curled painfully into Jesse’s neck to keep his head down, his mouth pressed against Hanzo’s.  
Jesse shivered, trying to get his grip back. If this kept going on in the same pace he’d come way too quickly. He couldn’t take this, the metallic tang of blood on his tongue, that only intensified when Jesse moaned into the kiss and Hanzo’s tongue slipped through his open lips, stealing the moan from the tips of his teeth; that incredible friction between their bodies that brought him closer to the edge than he wanted.  
Wanted… a weird sort of detached vertigo shot through him, because yes, he really wanted this. He had never seen Hanzo this way, but looking at him now, from this specific point of view - his dick in Hanzo’s fist, his tongue in Hanzo’s mouth - Jesse was struggling to hang on just a little longer, to stretch those fragile moments of bliss out for as long as he could.  
He braced one hand against Hanzo’s chest and shimmied back just a little, just enough to take a bit of the pressure of Hanzo’s hand off his cock. A groan that was halfway between frustration and impatience rumbled from his throat as he tugged at the waistband of Hanzo’s pants. The confusion on Hanzo’s face quickly turned into something else, something darker, when he realised that Jesse was doing. Jesse grinned, gripping Hanzo’s cock firmly with his prosthetic hand. Oh, this was a nice prize indeed. Hanzo’s choked moan, the way he was bucking his hips into Jesse’s hand, sent a pleasant tingle down Jesse’s spine.

  
“You’re begging for it.” Jesse’s voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, his grin looked obscene.

  
All Hanzo managed by way of replying was a vague nod, his eyes hooded, his body helpless against the onslaught on his oversensitive nerves. Jesse had never noticed, probably because he had never seen Hanzo like this, but his open mouth, his lips glistening wetly, his thick, black lashes over dark eyes - Jesse liked this view. Hell, he liked it so much, he was enjoying how many of those delicious sighs he could draw from Hanzo with a twist of his hand; he was hanging on every gasped breath, every twitch, every flutter of his eyelids.  
The pace Jesse set was merciless, his metal hand moving quickly up and down, up and down and Hanzo writhed beneath him. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t get enough of how good it felt to have Hanzo push into his fist. Jesse’s eyes wandered up, over the inked skin of his chest, finally looking into Hanzo’s face, taking in his tense expression, his gaze, that begged and cursed and screamed and it was all he needed.  
Bringing himself into

a better position, Jesse took both their cocks into his metal hand, gripping tightly, pressing their shafts together and it sent a jolt like electricity through him. Beneath him, Hanzo arched as much as he could with Jesse still straddling his hips. His searching hands found Jesse’s thighs and curled into the rough fabric of his jeans, needing something to hold onto. He felt he would lose his mind if he didn’t have this one sliver of reality. Losing himself in the waves of pleasure was easy now that Jesse moved his hand with hard, fast strokes, running his thumb over both their heads every other stroke. Their groans were barely coherent, the heat of their shared pleasure left their skin glistening with sweat. Hands roamed and grasped and held onto every bit of skin they could find.  
This was too overwhelming, too much, too good.

  
Jesse forced himself to keep his eyes open, to hold Hanzo’s veiled gaze as if he was an anchor that kept him grounded and pulled him into bottomless depths at the same time. Darkness closed in around them, the world stuttered to a halt.

  
And suddenly everything exploded.

  
There was a humming noise in his ears as if he had stood next to a rocket hit, when the noise was pushed away by the blast and for a split second there was only the silence and the heat. Jesse barely noticed his hands starting to shake, how Hanzo’s body tensed beneath him, then started twitching; his fingers dug into Jesse’s thigh painfully. Then the second had passed and there was the plunge.  
They both came shortly after one another, panting and shivering; raw, unguarded noises tearing from their throats in a haze of bliss. It was as if the tension flowed out of them and poured into the shooting range along with that brilliant blue light that wafted around them like thick veils of mist.  
Jesse none of that; his muscles were trembling, his mind felt numb as if he was spilling his whole life over his hand and the man beneath him. And when he closed his eyes and didn’t dare to breathe - hoping, willing whatever fate was listening that he remain trapped in this moment - his instinct was all but screaming at him to wake up.  
It took a tremendous effort, but eventually he could force his eyes to open again.  
Blue, everything was glowing and bright and painful and blue, as if his body was caught between being too hot and being too cold. He couldn’t understand what was happening, was forced to just watch the pale blue glow of two slender bodies winding around his shoulders.  
Dragons. They were dragons, that much Jesse’s addled brain could gather before it was wracked by a violent shiver. His shirt was drenched with sweat and the dragons pushed it even closer to his oversensitive skin; the overload of sensation made his head swim.

  
Suddenly he could hear the song of thunder and drums, a soft whisper of cherry blossoms falling onto cobblestones, could smell war and death, felt thirst and despair. It all came crashing down on him like a tidal wave, filling him up with an emotion that he knew only too well.  
It was as if he was hanging onto a sheer drop into an endless abyss and the whole world seemed to shrink down onto that one hand that was still holding onto the edge - the pain in the knuckles, the pull on the arm, the grinding of teeth and the stubborn, desperate will to not let go.  
Jesse heard himself gasp for breath but no air reached his lungs, his throat was dry. He was suffocating between the dragon’s bodies, eyes wide open and hanging onto those last shreds of oxygen left in his cells. Just when his brain wanted to send him into a comfortable, deep unconsciousness he felt the wind, on his damp skin, in his hair, and sweet, sweet air flowed through his mouth into his lungs. The dragons let him breathe, gliding around him; their smooth scales left his skin tingling.

They were whispering. He could hear them in his head, soft, quiet, like a breeze, not enough to touch, but there.  
He couldn’t understand but he felt.

  
It felt like those many nights after the fall. Like dusty dive bars, cheap whiskey, hard floors. It was the essence of loneliness, distilled through those two dragons and they made him drown in it. His heart was thundering painfully in his chest and the memory made his stomach churn.

  
“I didn’t know…” He wasn’t sure if he said it or thought it but he sensed that they understood.

  
Slowly, the pressure around his body eased, the dragons were disappearing, dissolving, taking the light with them and Jesse felt something akin to loss - the absence of something he didn’t know he needed until it was gone.

  
His body crumbled in on itself, exhausted both mentally and physically. Jesse felt numb, wooden, as if his hands were not his own as he all but sagged forward, struggling to break his fall before he hit Hanzo. Somewhere in the back of his mind the drums and the thunder slowly faded, leaving only a dull ache behind and the memory of better days long lost.  
They remained like that for a bit, forehead against forehead, panting each other's breath. Eventually Hanzo managed to open his heavy eyelids; his hazy gaze met Jesse’s and something changed. It was as if a veil was pulled back from McCree’s wide eyes. His expression closed off, the scowl was back, but less severe. More confused, really.

  
“Fuck”, he rasped, scooting back, his motions strange, jittery.

  
“I…” his voice was shaking, there was a hint of uncertainty in his face.

“Fuck”, he said again, quickly scrambling to his feet. He swayed, but managed to stay upright not even bothering to right his shirt, which looked rumpled; there were little flecks of blood on the collar. He threw Hanzo a last look - it held so many emotions that Hanzo didn't manage to tell them apart and even more he didn't want to see because he didn't think he could bear it - and hurried out of the room.  
Hanzo stayed where he was, spine on the ground, drenched in sweat, their mess sticky on his stomach. His breath still came in harsh, ragged gasps when he covered his face with a shaking hand. His stomach twisted and turned, the room spun around him.

  
How the hell could he have let this happen?


	6. A Fish Out Of The Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being "a fish out of the water" describes a situation in which one does not feel comfortable.

It had been one of the few nights where the nightmares spared Hanzo. He had slept dreamless and dead to the world. No one, nowhere. The price he paid for that though was an all-encompassing soreness and a dull throbbing in his head that prevented him from thinking a single lucid thing. He stood in front of the mirror now, one hand braced against the sink and stared blankly into his tired, exhausted face. There were dark shadows under his eyes, his cheek was still burning where McCree had hit him. More than that, though, burned the bite marks and bruises on his neck and chest. Tentatively, he traced his fingers over them and shuddered, burying his face in his hands as if he could erase the traces from his face and memory like that.  
Hanzo felt absolutely miserable. He should be angry -at McCree, at himself-. He should be angry that he could have easily gotten out of McCree’s grip or avoided him altogether. Instead he had let McCree wrestle him to the ground, had practically begged for pain and confrontation punishment. His own image in the mirror seemed to snarl beaten, worthless dog at him, but his recollection of last night said something else.  
He could still smell McCree on himself, that hint of sweat, metal and leather, earth and rage and warmth that stuck to Hanzo’s skin. The dragons coiled lazily, basking in the memories and he felt betrayed by them.  
There was no eloquent way to put it, how one would feel when in a moment of absolute weakness - those words made Hanzo shiver still - having their innermost self laid bare. Right there, when the dragons had broken loose without him calling them and when he saw McCree’s eyes, Hanzo knew that he had to leave Overwatch. He had to, for his own security as well as the protection of everyone else on this base. Maybe, if you squint your eyes just right, it would also be a pathetic try to compensate Genji, who had more than earned the chance to actually lead his new life without the shadow of the past.  
Without him.  
Not Hanzo who would just keep reminding him of the fact that he could be human and whole and alive if it hadn’t been for him. Hanzo owed the agents Song and dos Santos as well, because they had depended on his prudence and he had let them down in the worst way possible. And he owed Captain Winston who had seen more in him than was actually there.  
Like a stone dropping into water, rippling the surface, Hanzo could hear the dragon spirits whisper. This was new. Usually their communication sounded like thunder or deafening, heavy rain in the back of his head. They were gentle today, their touch to his mind soft when they pulled the memories of last night back to the light and made him relive them again. He had put everything into McCree’s hands, more than he himself had realised in that moment and Hanzo had cared none at all if he insulted or strangled him. His body and his mind had betrayed him, had defied his control and what was left for him was heaviness and warmth and a whole lot of nothing.  
When their mouths had collided (it seemed off to call it kissing, the word too tender, too loving for the rage that had driven them), their lips unyielding and moving, sharp edges of teeth and tongues… Hanzo had closed his eyes.  
The time for hesitating and second thoughts was long gone and for the first time he could remember, Hanzo let go. And he had never felt so despairing and so consoled like he had last night. The memory of McCree’s hands on him, his firm grip, their desperate thrusts - the thought still sent a wave of heat and desire through his body that burned its way straight to his crotch. For the first time McCree’s eyes hadn’t looked cold and denying. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing his own desperation reflected back at him. There was the same longing for closeness, for life. When he had sunk his teeth into McCree’s neck, biting, marking his moans and the irregularity of his breath had shown Hanzo a glimpse of how it would feel to be alive. Well, truly alive and not just surviving.  
Even the simple memory of McCree’s heavy body on top of him, the heady grinding, those sparks of raw pleasure - he had to grip the edge of the sink hard, his knuckles going white with the force of it. His knees suddenly felt weak.  
And then - and that sobered him instantly - he had screwed it up. Badly. He remembered noticing the dragons only after seeing McCree’s expression. It would have been fascinating in any other situation how quickly and entirely his blissful arousal had changed into horror. He had seen the blue glow that threw McCree’s features into sharp contrast before the spectral body had wound around McCree. They had both held their breath; McCree’s gaze held a panicked question, Hanzo’s was pure, unadulterated helplessness. Fear and the need for an explanation tried to hold onto confusion. And then McCree’s eyes fluttered closed and he breathed out.  
Hanzo had never seen him like this, his face twisted with pain, anxiety, unrest and yet there was peace there and letting go. At the same time Hanzo was so caught up with himself, his worry, his own terror, that the dragons had entered this physical plane without his prompt. He only knew them as destructive beasts who obliterated everything in their path. He had never expected them to do... this - whatever they had been doing there. Hanzo didn’t know what to do other than hold onto McCree (it felt strangely grounding, the realisation that he was real and right there, an anchor in the bankless ocean of his own fear), his fingers digging into his hips, holding his breath and watching helplessly, waiting for the consequence to come crashing down.  
The dragons disappeared as quickly as they had come; Hanzo could feel them under his skin again, giving him a welcome feeling of being whole. He was still reeling from whatever had just happened when the weight on his body was gone all of a sudden. McCree had stumbled to his feet, swaying slightly, his expression disoriented. And then, without sparing him as much as a word or a backward glance, McCree had left Hanzo right where he was on his back on the floor of the shooting range. Hanzo didn’t know if it was his flight instinct or if McCree simply found him even more despicable now that he had seen him lose control. When the dragons had vanished they had taken all the openness on McCree’s face with them; it was closed off and distant once again. He was left at a loss, feeling exhausted and empty and as alone as ever.  
Hanzo blinked, pulling his mind back from the murky depths of that particular memory and found his reflection in the mirror once more. His tired face stared back at him; his hands were trembling. He needed to get ready for the debriefing with Winston. After that was over he would give the Captain his resignation from Overwatch.  
He took a shaky breath that did nothing to calm his mind and pushed himself away from the sink.  
Time to get this over with.

\---

Agent Song wasn’t there during the debriefing in one of the smaller team rooms. Her condition was stable, as Dr. Ziegler had assured him, but she insisted on proper rest and recovery time for her patient. Winstons broad frame was crammed behind the table, his back to the window. His shoulders hunched forward, he poured over a number of datapads on the table, one hand righted his glasses. It was strange to Hanzo how the Captain always seemed to try and make himself as small as possible in the presence of other people. Why that was, though, Hanzo hadn’t managed to figure out.  
Agent Amari stood behind him, her hands folded behind her back, shoulders straight. When she saw Hanzo her face hardened. At least she was easy to read, honest with herself and her surroundings. He appreciated that about her, Hanzo had to admit that much.  
On the other side of the table sat agent dos Santos, who had turned around to look at Hanzo when he had entered. He greeted his Strike Commander with a small wave and a smile, his splinted leg was propped up onto a second chair and a stab of guilt shot through Hanzo.  
Soldiers die in war.  
He couldn’t remember exactly what happened during the debriefing. He did remember Winston denying any guilt thrown Hanzo’s way and reminding agent Amari of the chain of command. He noted the mission down as a failure, but emphasised that they had gotten off lightly, considering Talon had shown up. Captain Winston had had his own run ins with Widowmaker and understood how serious things had gotten for them. It didn’t pass by Hanzo that Winston might know more than he was saying. There was something like grief in his brown eyes and regret, whenever he talked about Widowmaker. Amari just grit her teeth and glowered darkly in her corner. They all had their own stories, good and bad, apparently and it only made it clearer to Hanzo that he wasn’t part of the past and didn’t want to be in the future. When Winston wrapped up the debriefing with a note that a resting time was mandatory for all agents (except of course in case of emergency missions) everyone filed out one after the other. Amari supported dos Santos who hobbled along as best as he could. When they were all gone, Hanzo took a deep breath and stepped up to Winston’s table.  
“Captain, I hereby formally request my release from Overwatch.”  
The words felt like ash in his mouth.  
Winston looked up at him, questioning.  
“Agent Shimada, I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand.”  
Hanzo sighed heavily. He would never have guessed that it would be this difficult. But standing in front of Winston now and actually saying it out loud made everything inside him recoil. He would be alone again, a mercenary, a killer. Just him and his memories of the past.  
“The mission made me realise that the position of Strike Commander surpasses my skills. I endangered my team”, he held up a hand before the Captain could protest, “and I’m not willing to keep bearing this responsibility. I’m prepared to sign whichever NDAs you find necessary.”  
Those words were easier. It was good to focus on formal things and discuss the matters of his departure instead of actually thinking about what this would really be: a farwell.  
“Of course it isn’t my place to question your decisions, agent Shimada,” Winston’s voice was calm, gentle as he looked at Hanzo over the rim of his glasses, “but I want you to know that seeing you leave would be a heavy loss for Overwatch. And not only for the organisation in and on itself but the agents as well.” Now it was Winston’s turn to hold up his hand to stop Hanzo from arguing. “I might not be an active field agent anymore, because commanding takes up a lot more time than what it looks like. But I have been in Overwatch for long enough to know when agents trust each other. You might be the strong, silent type and give out your praise only sparingly, but I can see that everyone here is glad to have you watch their backs.”  
Hanzo’s hands were cold and sweaty at his sides and he resisted the urge to wipe them on his pants.  
“I have read a lot of the old mission reports and a lot of times you had a significant role in the success of these missions. Look, agent Shimada, I’m not trying to convince you to stay with us - I just want you to consider that one failed mission should not be the reason you walk away.”  
Winston lowered his head, suddenly looking tired, born down with worry.  
“There are big challenges ahead of us. Bigger than anything we have ever faced. With organisations like Talon blurring the frontlines, the fight has changed, compared to the Omnic-crisis. There’s only few of us left and it’s a heavy burden to carry on the legacy of Overwatch. We need every capable fighter and I’m incredibly grateful for everyone who followed my call.”  
“With all due respect, Captain”, Hanzo replied stiffly, “the fate of Overwatch was never of any concern to me. I’m here because I followed my brother. Now that I can be sure he’s in good care here, I wish to leave.”  
“Your brother has the utmost confidence in you. He was the one who convinced me to deploy you as an active agent in the first place. And I have yet to regret that decision, agent Shimada.” Winston put his huge hands onto the desk, his fingers splayed wide. It was strange that a talking gorilla could put more humanity into his gestures and words than others could. He looked up at Hanzo again, his gaze earnest and turned his hands palms up.  
“So, this is not me as your Captain putting out an order but rather the request of a friend.” The sincerity in his words made Hanzo’s mouth run dry. “My sources have informed me of a meeting that several leaders of Talon’s subgroups are rumoured to attend. We could do significant damage to Talon’s organisational structure if we could just find evidence of their illegal activities. Of course, that wouldn’t reach all the way up to Talon but it has a high potential of taking out a good chunk of their monetary sources. There are only two agents in range right now who have the necessary skill to go on a mission like this. I’d need someone as the third man to backup your brother and agent McCree.”  
His words had turned business-like, the Commander giving a mission briefing and it made it easier for Hanzo to control his expression and keep the turmoil out of his face.  
“Which illegal activities are we talking about, Captain?”  
“Arms deals, drug and human trafficking.”  
Winston was good, but it was still obvious how he hated the helplessness when it came to Talon. There was the one moment when their eyes met and they both knew why Winston was asking and why Hanzo would agree to come along. He realised why Genji wanted to be on the mission so badly and why he himself would never turn it down. All three of these crimes had been a big part of the Shimada family business. Hanzo snorted. Fate had a bitter sense of irony. He didn’t answer for a long time, but eventually he exhaled and lowered his eyes.  
“This will be my last mission, Captain.”  
Winston’s smile was thankful and only a tiny bit smug when he handed him the datapad with the mission details.  
“Should you wish to go, Shimada Hanzo, no one will force you to stay.”  
Hanzo hesitated for a moment before accepting the datapad. Instead of an answer he just nodded and turned to leave, trying his best to ignore the lump in his throat.


	7. Ripples

Jesse was almost running down the sloping path to the village on the beach below the base. He slipped on the wet rocks and stumbled over sticks, not really watching where he was going. His mind was spinning a million miles an hour, stopping at nothing in particular and remembering everything at once. He shouldn’t have let it get that far, should have stopped it when he’d had the chance.  
What had he been thinking? He kicked a pebble with the tip of his boot and listened to it tumble off the cliff. The sound was barely audible over the rumble of the storm. Maybe he could convince himself that all this had just been a bad dream. That none of it had been real. Just a nightmare.  
He closed his eyes to take a deep breath and saw blue, translucent bodies behind his closed eyelids, felt the taste of smoke and blood and loss on his tongue. His heart skipped a painful beat and his eyes snapped open again. He felt dizzy. All those… things he had felt when they… when the dragons had wound around his body, they were so familiar, so intimate to him, it was as if Jesse had looked into a mirror.  
And he didn’t understand, didn’t want to realise what this meant. He didn’t want to think, couldn’t deal with the onslaught of emotions (his and Hanzo’s) and he knew one sure-fire way to stop thinking.  
The first pub he found in the small town down in the bay was tiny, crammed in between two houses that seemed to lean on each other against the winds. The windows were caked with salt and sand and the light was dim. There were barely any patrons and the bartender looked like he had been living here his whole life. It was exactly how Jesse liked it. No one would ask questions, no one knew him, everyone minded their own business.  
He tapped the brim of his hat as a greeting towards the bartender and slumped onto one of the stools at the bar.  
"Qué te pongo, vaquero?"  
“Double whiskey, neat.”  
“Coming right up.”  
This was the best way for a hard reset. He could forget for a while, feel like crap in the morning and maybe think about it later. Maybe.  
The barkeeper set a glass with a liberal amount of amber liquid in it down in front of Jesse.  
“Here you go. The drink to forget, huh?”  
Jesse made a face at him that he hope conveyed something like You don’t know the half of it and knocked back the drink in one long gulp. Then he slid the empty glass back across the counter.  
The barkeeper raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment as he poured Jesse another.  
“You know, it’s not often we get an actual cowboy walking around here, spurs and hat and all.”  
Jesse made a noncommittal sound, took the refilled glass, downed that as well and handed the glass back to the bartender for another refill.  
“You’re from that military base on top of the cliff, aren’t you?”  
Jesse almost choked.  
“What makes you think that?”, he managed to force out between coughs.  
“Well”, he made a gesture with one arm that implied all of Jesse from head to toe, “all that for starters. And you have that look in your eyes, I’ve seen it in the Omnic Crisis. You’re... un luchador. A soldier. A fighter.”  
Jesse chuckled, feeling the warmth of the hard alcohol spread through his stomach as he sipped his whiskey.  
“So that’s why I’m so lousy at disguises.”  
“The question that remains, is, though”, the man leaned against the counter, “what makes you come here in the dead of night and try to drink yourself into a stupor?”  
He indicated the empty glass that Jesse was nudging towards him again and Jesse sighed.  
“Did a stupid thing.”  
The man smiled, pouring yet another double whiskey for Jesse.  
“That’s the usual reason people come to drink, yes. Most of the time it also wasn’t that bad.”  
Again, Jesse chuckled, but it was a bitter sound this time.  
“Oh no, it was plenty stupid, even for my standards.”  
“You know, I’m a bartender. Being a good listener comes with the job.”  
Jesse watched him for a moment, fighting with himself whether he should or shouldn’t. Then he sighed.  
“What the hell.”  
He took the drink, swirled it around in the glass, took a sip. When he opened his mouth, the words just started tumbling from his lips, without Jesse actually telling his tongue to form coherent sentences.  
“So, there’s this guy, right, a total asswipe (or so I thought), who did a lot of awful things, he hurt a friend of mine, like, really badly and then he turns up years later and apparently everything is suddenly okay? And my friend has forgiven him and everyone else has, too and I just can’t forget that he almost killed… anyway, he gets in over his head, right, and gets even more people hurt, like really badly and then he has the audacity to just sit there and..”  
Jesse interrupted himself. He was probably not making a lot of sense to the barkeeper, but it felt good to just let it pour out of him, to just talk. He took two large gulps of Whiskey before he continued, the burn of the alcohol searing his throat.  
“And then.... Something happened, ‘s a long story, but I saw how he was suffering and he was so broken an’...” He paused. How could he say just why he felt so guilty, so rotten?  
“I realised that I had never really tried talking to him, you know. Before I even met him, I had judged him, had my preformed opinion on him and when he actually got here, I never gave him the chance to convince me of anything else.”  
“And now, after that something happened, you struggle with your prejudices.”  
“Well, yeah, but… he showed me this and I knew he was at his lowest point, I fucking knew and I just stood up and left him. And I’m afraid I can never make this right again. I wasted my one chance.” He sighed and stared at his almost empty glass, watching the light dance in the whiskey. “I was just… I was scared and confused and… an ass. I was a colossal moron!”  
Jesse let his forehead crash down onto the countertop with a thud.  
The barkeeper said nothing. He took Jesse’s glass from his fingers, poured him another double and pushed it back into his slack hand. He stayed silent for a while, took a glass from the sink to dry it, while watching Jesse drag his head from the countertop and knock back his drink. Eventually, when Jesse didn’t go on anymore, he said: “You know, my abuela always said that.. Err.. how do you say it in English..? It is… err… nunca es tarde si la dicha es buena.”  
Jesse met his gaze, resting his heavy head on one hand, while the barkeep topped him off once more.  
“Never too late to make things right, huh?”  
He scoffed and couldn’t stop the memories seeping into his drunk brain, memories of a different voice, dishing out his abuela’s sayings as well. It had been between the hate and the wraith, a time where he was just Gabe and the three of them could laugh together.  
A melancholic smile fell onto his lips. “I once knew a guy who always used to say that stuff with his abuela as well. Funny, that, you people really were stuffed full of wisdom by your grandmas, it looks like.”  
The retaliation came immediately and mercilessly. “And it looks like you weren’t.”  
Jesse chuckled and downed the rest of his drink.  
“Fair enough.”  
“You know, if you don’t want to hear more of my abuela’s wisdom, maybe you should head on home now.”  
For the first time that night he looked up and noticed that the bar was empty except for himself and the barkeep. It must be real late. He swivelled back around towards the man behind the counter. He looked exhausted. Another thing Jesse hadn’t noticed in his own misery.  
“Right, yeah, you wanna close up, gotcha. Don’t mean to keep ye, I’ll just…” He slid from his barstool in the most graceful way he could still manage, wobbling a bit on his feet. Then he giggled (an actual, honest-to-god giggle… God, he was wasted!) and rummaged through his pockets.  
“How much do I owe ye?”  
The barkeeper watched him fumble with his datapad for a bit, then held out his hand.  
“I’ll do it. Or you might accidentally sell your firstborn to me.”  
Jesse barked out a laugh. “Good grief, yeah, never having one of those, so you’d be the one screwed by that deal.”  
“I guess we should just stick to credits then.” The man tapped a few times on the datapad, then handed it back to Jesse.  
“You know”, he said, guiding him towards the door with a hand on Jesse’s shoulder, “if this is so important to you, that you come looking for solutions in the bottom of a glass in the first bar you can find, then maybe you should make an effort to figure it out. A sober one.”  
Jesse patted him on the upper arm with a sincere smile.  
“You’re so full of wisdom, amigo. A good man. People don’t appreciate you enough.”  
The barkeep returned the smile. “No, they don’t.” He held up his hand in a farewell gesture. “Good night. And get home safely, cowboy.”  
Jesse vaguely waved at him over his shoulder, already staggering down the street towards the little pathway that led up the cliffside.  
He couldn’t really remember how he got back to the base without slipping on the wet rocks and hurtling into the storm-swept sea below, but he eventually found himself at the small gate that led into the mountain. He needed four tries to punch in his access code into the door panel, cursing all the while in between. When he made his way through the courtyard, a quiet, unobtrusive ping told him that he was in range of the base’s WIFI again. And that he had a message on his datapad. More out of reflex than by conscious choice, Jesse pulled the pad from his pocket (it only took him two tries this time around) and saw messages from Winston and Genji. Both had similar titles that had something to do with an upcoming mission. He skimmed through them, read Hanzo’s name in the mission roster and decided that he didn’t want to deal with that right now.  
He also didn’t feel tired in the slightest, so he raided his nearest cache of hidden booze and made his way up to the comm tower. He liked it up here. It was quiet, peaceful, the storm’s howling hiding him away from the world. There was always a breeze playing with his hair up here, clearing his thoughts and he could see so far. Even now in the darkest hour just before dawn, he could see the horizon as a faint, glowing line.  
He sat down on the edge of the tower, his feet dangling in the air and took a swig from his bottle. It was not as good as the stuff the barkeeper had served him, but it did the job. He was barely noticing the burn in his throat anymore.  
He needed to figure it out. Figure what out? Jesse scoffed. His feelings? Now that thought just made him feel like a lovesick thirteen-year-old. Maybe he should start by thinking about what had happened on the shooting range. They had been kicking the living daylights out of each other and then… and then they hadn’t. He remembered the heat, the friction, the desperate movements, the moans, the sweat and how it felt when his fingers curled into his hair, the way he had writhed in his hands. He let those memories wash over him, far past the point of being embarrassed anymore. And, looking back at it now and not so sober anymore, he had to admit that it had actually felt pretty good. God knows Jesse hadn’t had any relief like that in years. But it wasn’t that. Well, not only.  
He liked how he could make Hanzo writhe and moan and come undone. He could still vividly remember his expression just before the fall and Jesse didn’t think he could ever get enough of that.  
And then he had fucked up. That memory made a stab of pain and guilt and embarrassment shoot through Jesse. This was also an expression he would never be able to forget. The confusion, the hurt, the sorrow.  
Jesse rubbed his face with his flat hand, feeling light-headed all of a sudden. He had fucked up big time and now he’d have to go on a mission with Hanzo. Sure, Genji would be there, but that only made it a thousand times worse. How could he ever hope to make this right? He groaned and rested his hot face against the cold steel of the banister.  
The sun had started to come up, slowly lightening the sky to the colour of washed out jeans, then the most brilliant shades of orange and pink. And Jesse felt like nothing else was important anymore, everything just seemed to shrink and fade away. Only when his eyes started to flutter shut, his head lolling down onto his chest for the second time, he picked himself off the cold, metal floor and staggered back to his room.  
He made it to the bed, collapsed onto it, clothes and boots and empty whiskey bottle and all and was dead to the world.  
At least for the day. 

\---

Hanzo found himself walking through the base, not really paying attention to where he was going. He had a vague plan in his head to return to his quarters and familiarise himself with the mission details, but he couldn’t find it in himself to focus and just trusted his feet to carry him there. His mind was going a million miles an hour, pausing for a second here and there but never long enough for a clear thought.  
Why had he agreed to this mission? He had had no other choice and Winston had known that. Crafty bastard. He could never have said no. He should have said no.  
Damnit.  
Hanzo rubbed his face.  
He had no idea how he would get through a mission like this with McCree of all people. He couldn’t even look the man in the face, let alone think about the things that happened without his hands starting to shake. He was pathetic and a fool, but then again, nothing new under the sun.  
He would just have to make it through this mission, just this one thing and then he’d be gone from here and would probably never see anyone on this base ever again. That thought made a strange pang of loss twist his heart that he didn’t want to think about right now.  
There was no other choice. Not for him.  
He was so occupied with his thoughts that he only noticed Genji right before running straight into him. He held up his hands in a gesture between steadying Hanzo and surrender.  
“Whoa, steady now. You’ll hurt someone or walk off the cliff yourself if you keep stomping on blindly like this.”  
Hanzo stared at him blankly for a moment, his mind reeling from the sudden grinding halt it was forced into. Then he hastily took half a step back, moving out of his brother’s personal space. “I was… busy.”  
Genji tilted his head, his brows drawn together in confusion and concern.  
“Is everything okay, Hanzo? You looked like you were a million miles away just then.”  
God, he really had lost control if he allowed that to show on his face. Determined to divert Genji’s suspicion, he squared his shoulders and cleared his throat.  
“Yes, I’m fine. Really, there’s no reason for you to worry. I was just thinking about the mission ahead.”  
Genji’s expression remained sceptical for another second, then he nodded, not really convinced but knowing he would never get a straight answer from Hanzo when he didn’t want to give one.  
“Alright, if you say so. I was actually looking for you because of that. Winston told me you were assigned as well. It’ll be good to have you along, we could really use your expertise on this one.” He paused, his expression strangely soft when he continued. “It will be just like old times. Except that we’ll be standing on the other side this time.”  
Despite himself, Hanzo managed a small smile.  
“So it will be nothing like old times?”  
Genji laughed, an actual, honest to god laugh and it still astonished Hanzo. He couldn’t help but compare the image that would be burned forever into his brain of his brother laying bloody and broken to his feet to this laughing, scarred face so full of life and joy.  
“That’s a good point. And Jesse will be there as well, so I suppose, however much we plan ahead, things will not go smoothly at all. Speaking of planning”, Genji continued, giving no hint that he had noticed Hanzo flinch at the mention of McCree’s name, “since there’s not much time left to prepare, we’ll be getting together later tonight to lay out a plan of attack. If I can get Jesse sober until then. Maybe we should have tea.” Hanzo briefly perked up at Genji’s comment about McCree being drunk, but got sidetracked quickly. Genji was actually rubbing his chin, considering the mission planning like a nice tea time get together. And for him it probably would be, McCree and Genji were old friends after all, like brothers in arms. Another thing he had always begrudged McCree.  
And adding the way the two were around each other, the ease with which they shared their friendship on top of his own… issues with McCree was just the icing on top. Another thing he’d have to bear. But he could do it. The end was already in sight after all. So, Hanzo forced an entirely unconvincing smile onto his lips.  
“Sure, just shoot me a message when you have time for me. I’ll probably be in my room meditating or on the shooting range.” Well, he sure as hell was not planning to ever set foot in that particular area ever again, so that was a lie.  
Or he’d just fling himself off a cliff, that sounded like more fun than anything that could possibly happen tonight.  
“Will do.” Genji returned his smile only tentatively, the false note in it throwing him off. Still, he patted Hanzo’s shoulder encouragingly as he passed him by. “Remember, Hanzo, flow like water.”  
Hanzo gave a nondescript grunt as an answer and continued on his way to his quarters. His movements were wooden and choppy now, the datapad clenched in his hand so tightly his knuckles were turning white.  
This had been his choice so he had to see it through. He could lick his wounds afterward and fade back into obscurity.  
He recalled once again how much of a changed man his brother had become ever since Hanzo had killed him. How he was different even from how he had been before. This mission was important to Genji, that much was obvious; he was the one who believed in Overwatch and the good things they were doing. So, Hanzo made it important to himself because it was important to Genji. If he had nothing else left to give, he would at least give Genji that.

Several hours later he found himself wandering the halls of the base once again. This time though, he had a purpose. Genji’s mail had asked him to join them in the common room overlooking the bay. At 2300. Well, at least he had added an apology for the late time. His explanation had something to do with some sort of game, Hanzo presumed, because he had not a single clue why else his brother would be talking about raids and his team losing because Hana couldn’t play.  
So, because he was, after all, true to his word, he made his way up to the overlook, ignoring the queasy feeling in his stomach. He would just have to stay professional, focus on the mission and ignore McCree. Or rather, treat him as an asset to the mission with his considerable skill instead of only seeing the guy who had witnessed him at his lowest point and who Hanzo had surrendered himself to completely until they have succumbed to their lowest needs. That train of thought made his heart beat faster and he rigorously tried to push it away. It wouldn’t do any good if he wasn’t able to concentrate on the mission. And how would he be able to do that if he wasn’t able to shut away those memories that kept bearing down on him like weights strapped to his legs. Memories of fingers digging into his skin, the taste of McCree’s tongue in his mouth, the puffs of his soft moans against his neck.  
Hanzo growled out a low curse and stopped abruptly in his tracks. This was only getting worse and worse instead of getting better. He really had to get a grip on himself, regain control over his dragons, his thoughts, his mind. Otherwise he would risk posing a real threat to the mission, endangering his brother as well. And he only wanted to know him safe. If he kept his mind on that, he could do this one last thing. (Hopefully)  
The sound of quiet laughter reached his ears when he rounded the corridor that led to the overlook. Both voices were unmistakable; one belonged to his brother, the other one to McCree. Hanzo’s stomach gave a lurch which he pointedly ignored.  
“... of all times, really Jesse, that was stupid, even for you. You could have fallen off the damn thing and down the cliff!” That was Genji. His tone was scolding, but he could hear the amusement in it.  
“But the sunrise…” McCree’s answer was slurred, defensive and only slightly contrite. His voice was also a whole lot deeper and gruffer than usual. Hanzo swallowed.  
“The sunrise won’t do you any good when you’re dead. Drink in your own room next time, yeah?”  
“It was a nice sunrise, though..”, McCree mumbled and he heard Genji huff out a sigh that was halfway between exasperation and amusement.  
“Back me up here, sensei?”  
It was Zenyatta’s calm voice that answered and, despite his tension, Hanzo had to bite back the strange urge to laugh.  
“One can drink too much, but one never drinks enough.”  
There was a resigned groan from Genji and then the soft rustle of clothes and McCree spoke again.  
“Did you have a spanish grandmother as well?”  
Hanzo didn’t want it to seem like he was eavesdropping (he also felt stupid, standing out here in the hallway, eavesdropping) so he took a measured breath and chose that moment to enter the room.  
Genji noticed him first from where he stood, leaning against the counter, a kettle slowly heating water on a small cooking plate behind him. His smile was bright as he interrupted himself in the middle of a burst of laughter to greet his brother. McCree’s head snapped up but Hanzo deliberately avoided looking at him. He returned Genji’s greeting stiffly, nodded in the general direction of Zenyatta and made his way towards the window, feeling McCree’s eyes bore into the back of his neck.  
“You have urgent matters to discuss, I remember, so I’ll take my leave.” Zenyatta elegantly floated from his perch on the table and towards the door.  
“Good night, sensei”, Genji said. The omnic gave a wave of his hand and was gone.  
Silence settled between the three men in the room and it was not a comfortable one.  
Genji eventually cleared his throat. “So…”  
He didn’t get any further as Hanzo jumped up as if something had bit him and marched to the small cooking plate.  
“I’ll take care of the tea.”  
He noticed Genji’s surprised expression, but he moved to the side nonetheless.  
Busying himself with the exact measuring of tea leaves and water proved to be a good way of keeping Hanzo’s hands occupied. It also kept his mind from swirling too closely to the man who was currently staring holes into his back.  
Genji watched this for a good long moment, then cleared his throat.  
“You know, I do realise you two have your disagreements and would prefer to steer clear of each other”, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “but this time I need you to work as a team. It would be great if you could put your tensions aside, if even only for this mission. I bet Fareeha would suggest you settle it in a good, old-fashioned fist fight.”  
The grin in Genji’s voice was completely lost as Hanzo did his best to suppress a flinch. There was an odd beeping in his ears and he had to grip the kettle tightly to stop his hands from shaking. God damn Genji and his sixth sense. He had no idea how close to home his comment had hit. And in silence he was thankful for the medical stash of exceptionally good nano patches, that spared him from any comments about any bruises or cuts he had taken away from the shooting range.  
Fighting to keep his grip on his self-control, Hanzo put the tea down onto the table harder than necessary. He barely managed to choke out a “Thanks, but no thanks, we’re good”, between his teeth. From the corner of his eye, Hanzo saw McCree lift his head and look in his direction.  
“Are we?” The tone of his voice was strange, Hanzo couldn’t place it. He kept his gaze on the tea and bit the inside of his cheek to ground himself, before he replied.  
“We’ll manage for the mission, I’m positive.”  
The change of atmosphere in the room to something akin to disappointment was palpable.  
“Oh.”  
“I mean, if that works for you, whatever gets you there I say”, Genji’s voice was unsure, sceptical, but he continued, “But after the mission you two should consider seeking out a mediator. I’d really wish you two would get along. You have a lot in common, you know. Probably more than you think.”  
You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that fell, yet all Hanzo could hear was the loud rush of his blood in his ears. McCree was staying suspiciously quiet as well. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.  
Hanzo needed to get back in control and fast. He needed to focus, steer the topic away from… well, whatever this was. Because he felt he might snap if this kept going.  
“Yes”, he cleared his throat, ”the mission. Shall we finally discuss the mission?”

The mood in the room shifted almost instantly. Everyone was thankful for the excuse to focus on something else, anything at all. Discussing how they would infiltrate a heavily protected meeting of the heads of several illegal organisations was a whole lot easier.  
So easy, in fact that they all found into a rhythm quite quickly. It was almost pleasant. It was not their first rodeo, not by a long shot and it showed. They had their plan laid out quickly, roles discussed, entries and exit strategies mapped out.  
The only question that remained was how they would get in and manage the technical part of the mission.  
“I got a friend who could help us out”, McCree said. His chin rested on his hands and his voice was still gruff, but his eyes were awake, alert. “She knows her stuff with computers. I’m sure this’ll be a piece of cake for her. If I can get her on board. And she’ll need access, I don’t suppose they use your regular ol’ WIFI.”  
“Sounds good”, Genji jotted down a note on a sketchpad, “you should reach out to her asap, this is important. You think she’ll help?”  
McCree pursed his lips. “Positive.”  
“Great. Now, the only question that remains is, how we get inside that bunker.”  
They fell silent, scrutinising the blueprints they had in front of them. The walls were thick, no good comm connection would be possible, no tunnels, no secret hatches. And the area would be heavily guarded as well, their window of opportunity would be slim.  
Genji tapped his pen against his chin, then perked up and turned to Hanzo.  
“Hey, wasn’t there that one Talon guy who reached out to you? Akande Oka-what’shisface? He had an interest in you, right?”  
Hanzo frowned, the corners of his mouth turned down in a scowl.  
“No. There’s no way I’m doing that. That is not going to happen.”


	8. Bringing Water To The Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bringing water to the sea" - taking advantage of a situation.

Jesse sighed, not for the first time that morning and took a sip from the styrofoam cup in front of him. The coffee wasn’t half bad in this place. Still, couldn’t beat the one Reyes used to brew during late-night missions and endless surveillances and...

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to think about that right now. To distract himself, he let his gaze wander around the spacious room again. Even though it was early, the place was packed with people getting coffee or some atrocity they called breakfast muffins. Everyone looked entirely too chipper for Jesse’s taste. He was barely able to keep himself from yawning every two minutes. His head felt heavy, still trying to shake off the last traces of his hangover. Damn, he was getting old. A quick glance at his watch told him that she was late. Fuckin’ great. Here he was, having dragged himself out of bed at the crack of dawn only to be stood up at a fast food joint that smelled like stale frying oil.

He yawned again and dropped his eyes back to his coffee just as the door opened for the hundredth time in the last half hour. Jesse didn’t even pay her any mind in the beginning, only taking note from the corner of his eye of the new customer entering the restaurant; just one more to add to the churning mass of faces skulking around at the counter. He had gotten halfway through an absent minded “Sorry, but I’m waitin’ on someone”, when she had plopped down her heavily laden tablet onto his table. Without a word she slid into his booth  and popped a chewing gum lazily. 

She looked remarkably unremarkable, compared to her usual get up: her bright hair and flashy cybernetics hidden away underneath a wide, drooping hood, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat, she was wearing the bored, tired face of someone coming off of an overlong night shift. Jesse recognised her eyes first and then her smirk and despite himself, he chuckled.

“You sure know how to make an entrance, Sombra.”

“I consider that one of my specialities, yes.” She tilted her head, her smirk faltering only a smidge. “You look older, Jesse. This new Overwatch wearing you down?”

Jesse’s lopsided smile only came a half second too late. 

“You don’t know the half of it,  _ chava _ .” He had long since stopped wondering how Sombra knew everything she knew and definitely should not know anything about; but it still surprised him.

“I know more than you think,  _ Joel _ ”, she smirked, resting her head on one hand, “how’s your little Korean superstar doing? She out of the infirmary yet?”

Jesse shook his head. “You know that this is real unnerving? It’s like you’re keeping tabs on everyone on that base.”

“Maybe I am”, she smirked and tilted her head, “Why? Is there something you don’t want me to know?” 

He managed to conceal his little flinch as his mind launched into a flashback of hands and moans and hot breaths against his lips with a nonchalant shrug.

“Doubt I could hide it from you anyway.”

“And you would be right.” She pointed one a finger at him, then took a sip from her soft drink. “But you didn’t ask to talk to me because I’ve been spying on your little boy scouts club, have you?”

“As long as you don’t sell us out to Talon, you can spy all you want, Sombra. I ain’t gonna stand in your way if you feel like watching Winston eat peanut butter on his tyre swing all day.”

Sombra snorted. “It can be quite relaxing. And don’t worry, it’s purely for my own curiosity. Talon bores me. Too much  _ hurr durr, gonna take over the world _ evil genius shtick. It’s old hat.” She played with the straw in her drink. “So, are you gonna tell me why I came here at normal-people-time or not?”

It was strange to Jesse that a woman of her profession would prefer to do business face to face. The one time he had asked she had just winked at him and said that no system was safe ever. Communications, phone calls, mails could all be intercepted, nothing was ever really secure. It was much harder to hack a human person,  _ Trust me, I’ve tried _ and Jesse had never brought it up again.

He cleared his throat and leaned a little closer, the smell of something chocolate-y hitting his nostrils from the bulging paper bag on her tray. “I’m gonna ask you for a favour.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Sombra rolled her eyes.

“And? C’mon, don’t make this like pulling teeth. I don’t bite unless you pay me to.”

“This favour may or may not go against Talon.”

Her smirk broadened and she leaned her chin on her folded hands.

“Well, well, well, now you got me hooked, Jesse McCree. What do you need me to do?”

“I want you to write a code that can transfer funds between accounts and give the believable impression that those are regular occurrences. And I need it to be untraceable to you  _ or _ us, but I don’t need to tell  _ you  _ that.”

Sombra laughed, sinking back into her seat and flicked at her hood.

“And here I thought you had a challenge for me.”

“So, you can do it?”

“It’s already done. Where are you going to deploy it?”

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck.

“An underground bunker…”,

“Aaah…” Sombra’s face showed immediate understanding. She tapped a few times on her wrist holo and a miniature version of the bunker’s blueprint popped up.

“No wireless, no mobile devices, thick walls, underground, only one heavily secured standing connection outside. That’s tricky.”

“What do you need?”

She rubbed her chin and prodded the hologram so it spun around itself once, twice. There were small, glowing lines that showed wires and power lines.

“I can’t do it from the outside. There’s no way to hide the traces; even a mediocre engineer could figure out that the whole thing is an act.” She pointed at a tiny room on the hologram where several of the glowing lines converged. “I’ll need access to that computer.”

Jesse chewed the inside of his cheek. This was not a turn of events he liked.

“I won’t ask you to come in there with us.”

Sombra threw him an amused glance. “Good, because I would say no.”

“Then how…”, Jesse started but Sombra interrupted him.

“This isn’t the 20th century, Jesse, I don’t need to be there physically, I just need  _ access _ . I’ll give you guys a flash drive that you just need to plug into that computer; my code will take care of the rest.”

“You sure? None of us is the most knowledgeable when it comes to this hacking stuff…”

“Hacking stuff? Dios mío, old man, you are all fossils! I might be able to boost the comm signal, once you’re at the terminal, but the signal is gonna be crap. Should there be any problems I could at least  _ try _ to help you.”

Jesse leaned back and hummed.

“That’s an awful lot of maybes, Sombra.”

She shrugged, letting the hologram disappear with a flick of her wrist.

“This is as good as you’re gonna get. I’m the best for this, you know that. Trust me, when I tell you, it’s a sound plan.”

Jesse considered for a moment, but came to the conclusion that there was no other way. These scumbags had done a good job, choosing that particular bunker for their meeting place. It was practically impenetrable. And his team was gonna put that practically to the test.

He rubbed his forehead, looked into her eyes, then away again. Eventually he sighed.

“Alright. I trust you. If you say this is gonna work, it’s gonna work. Just remember, that our lives sort of depend on you, yeah?”

Sombra grinned. “I’ll watch out for you, amigo. You’ll be fine as long as you don’t do anything extraordinarily stupid. You know, that reminds me of something my abuela always used to say-” 

Jesse flinched and interrupted her immediately, his gaze almost panicked. 

“No! Don’t even think about saying that! Just.. don’t.”

She was only taken aback for a moment, then her grin widened.

“Touchy, touchy.”

“One more thing, though,” he said forcefully in an all too obvious attempt to change topics, “you never do anything for free. What do you want in terms of payment?”

She shook her head, not even trying to put effort into her affronted expression.

“You wound me, Jesse. Friends help each other out, no? Well, since this breakfast was your treat...”

“It was?”

“Your birthday is really not a very creative PIN, Jesse.”

He grumbled, which she ignored.

“So, how about, you owe me a favour? I’m sure having my own little pocket cowboy will come in handy at some point.” She held out a hand to him. ”What do you say?”

He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and shook her hand. “Why does this feel like I just sold my soul to the devil?”

“Aww, don’t worry, cariño, you’ve known me long enough to know I would  _ never _ abuse a favour from you.” 

She patted the back of his hand with her other hand, snatched the paper bag from her tray and stood with a smile. 

“I’ll get the flash drive to you within the next days. And I already got your comm frequencies, so..” She raised an eyebrow and smoothed over the lines on Jesse’s forehead. “It’ll be fine, Jesse, you worry too much.”

Jesse huffed out a laugh. “I’d really love to have your confidence.”

“Ah, but then you would be insufferable, wouldn’t you?” She winked at him and melted back into the crowd with a wave of her hand and an  _ Adios, Joel _ . 

Then she was gone.

Jesse stayed where he was, his cold coffee in front of him and a nasty feeling gnawing in the pit of his stomach that their plan had too many holes to fall through.


	9. Neck-Deep In Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being "neck-deep in water" means figuratively that one has only few chances to succeed.

How the hell had he let them talk him into this, Hanzo wondered, not for the first time in that night, as he easily passed through the strict security checks and continued on deeper into the bunker. He tugged at his pressed collar, uncomfortable with how tightly it fit around his throat. He hated suits. Not that he didn’t look good in them and they definitely were needed to convey the necessary air of arrogance and authority one would expect from a yakuza heir, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t hate them. 

As they had expected from a meeting of this size and clientele, neither comms nor weapons were allowed inside. There were signal jammers all over the place and only Talon’s hired mercenaries carried antiquated walkie-talkies around with them, strapped onto their tactical vests, right next to the automatic rifles. No bodyguards or weapons of any kind were allowed inside the premises.

There were lots of curious glances thrown Hanzo’s way, but no one actually approached him. McCree’s contact had put him onto the guest list and everyone who was still suspicious of a Yakuza without clan joining them, would find that Hanzo Shimada was revisiting old contacts and calling in favours of the illegal nature. It only played right into their hands that Akande Ogundimu had an actual interest in winning Hanzo as a Talon operative, shutting up those who still doubted.

Hanzo cast a look around what could be considered the main hall of the bunker. It looked like it used to be used as a storage for bigger vehicles; now it was glamorously decked out with chandeliers and curtains and long buffet tables along the walls, they had even laid out carpets over the bare concrete floors. The people mingling about were only the inner circle of the twenty underbosses that were going to meet tonight in this private military complex. It wasn’t exactly the Who’s Who of Yakuza - the bigger clans were still hesitant to surrender their control completely to Talon. Smaller organisations and those who didn’t invest their whole stakes in illegal activities were keen to strengthen their positions of power against the already established clans and saw Talon as their stepping stone upwards. And for Talon this arrangement was convenient - they let their subordinates do the dirty work for them and could keep their clean record in front of the rest of the world. Not to mention the staggering amount of money that was laundered through these organisations and came back to Talon nice and legit.

A waiter made his way over to Hanzo and offered him a glass of undoubtedly expensive champagne. Hanzo declined politely. If he wasn’t surrounded by concrete and bullet-proof glass, he would have guessed this was some sort of official state reception. It was missing the fancy ball gowns, though. Every single person in the room was donned in some sort of horrendously expensive, but bulletproof get-up, reinforced with carbon fiber. Hanzo was no exception to this. His suit was a simple black in colour, only the collar and intricate cuff links gave away that that simplicity was well paid for and made with expertise by a tailor who was versed in bulletproof fashion. He missed the familiar weight of his bow, though. No trick of engineering could manage for him to smuggle it inside.

It was strange to work without a comm. He had only been on Gibraltar for a short time but already he got so used to being able to reach his teammates when he needed them that he felt strangely alone now, without them chattering away in his ear. 

Slowly, he meandered deeper into the complex, wearing the mask of a man interested in the architecture of the bunker. The meetings where they were supposed to solidify their brittle alliance would start soon and he was running out of time.

When he was sure no one was paying him any mind, Hanzo ducked into one of the darker hallways, doing his best to avoid the guards that were positioned all over the bunker. He followed the blueprint that he had studied over and over on his datapad and committed to memory until he knew every single bend, every single room in the complex. He needed to move quick.

He was almost at his destination when he heard quiet voices from just around the corner up ahead. He slunk against the wall and inched closer, peeking around the corner briefly. In the corridor beyond two guards chatted about some unimportant, personal stuff. From what he could see, their builts were exactly what he needed. Perfect.

He ducked back behind the corner, pulled something small and metal from the pocket of his jacket and flicked it against the wall opposite of him. It bounced off the concrete and fell to the floor with a clatter that was almost too loud in the heavy silence of the bunker. The two mercenaries stopped their small talk mid-sentence, suddenly on high alert. 

Hanzo could hear them creep forward, coming ever closer towards him. He was tense, crouched low, ready to strike. When he saw the tip of a boot round the corner, he lunged.

Before the man closest to him realised what was happening, Hanzo was on him. He jabbed the heel of his hand straight and up with force. There was a stomach-churning crack when it drove into the man’s nose and then the bone gave way. During the time it took for his companion to sink dead to the ground, the other guy swung his rifle up, but Hanzo kept moving. In one fluid motion, he spun and brought his leg around in a kick that tore the rifle from the man’s hands. While he was still reeling, Hanzo closed the distance between them. He slid his right arm around the man’s neck, locking it with his left hand behind the man’s head. There was a moment when everything seemed to stand still, caught between surprise and defense. And then Hanzo flexed his right arm and twisted at an impossible angle and he crumpled to the ground as well.

He waited for another second, crouched low, listening for any signs that somebody had heard the commotion, but everything stayed silent. Swiftly, Hanzo dragged both bodies down the hall, until he reached a heavy steel door. Straightening up, he checked his watch. He was early, so he took care that he had no dirt or blood on his suit, smoothing out the creases at the cuffs. Then there was a silent knock on the door. Hanzo pulled the heavy lever that kept it locked and it swung inside with barely a noise. In the dark tunnel outside stood Genji and McCree, waiting for him and Hanzo breathed a small sigh of relief.

“Fancy meeting you here, Hanzo. You come here often?”, McCree quipped and Genji elbowed him. 

“Cut the flirting, Jesse, we have work to do.”

They both squeezed past a sort of perplexed Hanzo, and McCree rubbed his hands together when he saw the two dead mercenaries on the ground.

“Good thing Talon keeps their guys well fed. I was afraid those wouldn’t fit.”

He pulled the tactical vest off the bigger body and put it on, checking the pockets as he went. His face lit up in delight as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from one of them. 

“Jackpot!”

Genji just shook his head and bent down to strip the smaller mercenary. 

Hanzo cleared his throat. “I’ll have to get back before they notice my absence. The terminal is down that corridor and to the right. Good luck!”

He threw McCree and Genji a last look over his shoulder and disappeared down the corridor, trying his best to shake all thoughts of how this could go wrong.

In the meantime, Genji had concealed his sensors with the mercenary’s overalls, hiding his  _ katana  _ and  _ wakizashi  _ on his back beneath the foreign uniform. He hummed in displeasure as he took off his mask and rolled his shoulders, testing his range of motion with the added weight of the heavy boots.

“This is so…”

“Unfamiliar?”, Jesse added, zipping up his own overalls with a smirk. “That’s what you get for insisting on green glow-y sensors all over your body that are sure to attract attention.”

“Says the guy with actual spurs on his boots.”

Jesse sighed as he unbuckled aforementioned spurs and stashed them in his vest. He raised his hand to right his head, but remembered that he had left his hat in the helicarrier. At least the familiar weight of Peacekeeper was still on his thigh.

“I hate infiltrations.”

“I know.”

They followed the sparsely illuminated corridor, turning in the opposite direction Hanzo had gone and made their way through the maze of rooms towards the room with the terminal. Voices alerted them that the room was guarded long before they rounded that last corner. The two mercenaries at the door looked bored. Jesse squared his shoulders, the rifle slung loosely over his shoulder and swaggered towards them.

“We got your guard, fellas, go get something to eat. They got the most amazing grub down at that meeting.”

The two mercenaries turned towards them with pleased expressions that quickly changed to suspicious when they actually looked at Genji and McCree.

“Where are Mayers and Ling?”

“Mayers wanted to go for a smoke. You know how he is. We switched with ‘em”, Jesse said nonchalantly and smiled at them.

The broader one shook his head. “Those goddamn things are gonna kill him one day.” They shuffled down the corridor into the direction Jesse and Genji had just come from.

“That’s what I tried to tell him!”, Jesse hollered after them, “The guy just won’t listen. Take it easy, will ya?”

When they were gone, Jesse turned back to Genji, who looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“You’re shameless.”

Jesse grinned as he unlocked the door.

“Whatever gets you there, I say.”

The room itself was pretty bare, furnished with only a few desks and computers that were humming quietly and were not nearly as inconspicuous as they looked. They were the heart of this bunker, the central system that kept everything running and connected to the Talon networks in a way that was rather brilliant, Sombra had made sure of that. She had also made sure to leave herself some back doors. You never knew, after all.

Genji opened a little panel on his forearm and pulled a small chip from inside, turning it over between his forefinger and thumb.

“Your friend is very smart. I hope your friendship lasts long and that she never finds a reason to have a grudge against Overwatch.”

“She’s a good kid, Genji.”

“That’s what I try to tell you about Hanzo as well, but you still do not trust him.”

“Yes, Genji. Hanzo is a good kid as well.”

Genji’s snort turned into a laugh.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Jesse only grinned in return, plucked the chip from Genji’s fingers and plugged it into the designated slot on one of the machines. 

At first, nothing happened.

Genji and Jesse exchanged a confused glance, then a black window popped up for the fraction of a second and a purple sugar skull flashed on screen and then everything looked like it did before. They waited for a little longer, but nothing happened.

“Did it work?”, Genji asked. Jesse just shrugged. They both flinched when they heard a quiet chuckle crackle through the comms. 

“Of course it worked, I wrote it.”

“Fucking hell, Sombra!” 

Another chuckle. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, you kiss your mother with that mouth, Jesse?”

Jesse ignored her comment, while Genji huffed out a relieved sigh next to him.

“What’s it doing now?”

“The thing you wanted it to be doing. It’s siphoning funds from Talon’s hidden accounts onto the accounts of every single person in that bunker. It will look like a good hacker did it, but there are rookie mistakes that will cover our tracks. And no one will be any wiser.”

She sounded way too pleased with herself. Jesse could picture her, leaning back in her chair with her hands behind her head.

“And the thing you wanted to do with the comm signal worked as well?”

“I  _ am _ talking to you, am I not?”

Next to him, Genji coughed and it sounded suspiciously like laughter. Jesse elbowed him.

“You know I’m not good with computers.”

“Oh I know, alright”, her grin was clearly audible in her voice, “but I see you put your vast hacking-skill to good use and found the right chip slot.”

Jesse snorted and ignored this jab as well. 

“How long will this take?”

“Give it another five minutes and don’t forget to destroy the chip.” There it was again, that mockery in her voice. Jesse rolled his eyes and turned to Genji, who held up one finger and nodded deliberately at Jesse.

“You two think I’m a complete idiot, don’t you?”

“Well, you work really hard to keep that image”, Genji said, not even trying to hid his laughter anymore. Through the comms he could hear Sombra chuckle.

“Now that we have some down time… I meant to ask what’s going on between you and my brother.” Genji’s voice was earnest, almost perfectly matter-of-fact.

Jesse’s jaw dropped. After the initial shock had passed, he gestured to the comm-link in his ear, his expression was something akin to panic.

“Oh, but there’s only very little you could hide from me, cowboy”, and Jesse could have sworn he heard her smile.

“Do we really have to do this right now? We should focus on the mission.”

“Don’t evade, Jesse, that’s rude. The Sparrow asked you a question, be polite and answer him.” 

As much as he really didn’t want to have this conversation now, he knew they wouldn’t stop hounding him anyway, so he shrugged.

“What’s there to talk about?”

Genji arched an eyebrow at him. Jesse huffed.

“We had a… bit of a disagreement.”

“You had twenty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds where Athena’s quite extensive and quite entertaining surveillance was disabled by voice override. I have to say, I was a bit disappointed.”

Genji nodded in approval. “Is there something your friend doesn’t know?

“Yes, Jesse, is there something your friend doesn’t know?”, Sombra echoed Genji.

“You two had your disagreement and then you drowned in booze, Jesse”, Genji added, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Alright, get out of my head, you two pests. That’s something between me and him, okay? I was an idiot - as was your brother, by the way - and we will settle this if we ever manage to get our asses out of here in one piece. And if Hanzo doesn’t switch over to the bad side. That suit looks mighty good on him, maybe, once he tasted blood..”

All the humour was gone from Genji’s face for the fraction of a second.

“You never know, how much time you have, Jesse. If anybody should know that, it’s us.”

“He’s right, Jesse. It’s about time you hugged your grumpy yakuza-prince and use another twenty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds to convince him that you’re not a complete idiot. Even though you try your best to make everyone around you think just that.”

Jesse waved a dismissive hand at Genji and just as he opened his mouth for another snide remark, the sugar skull flashed again on screen. The hack was done.

Jesse pulled the chip from the computer and crushed it beneath the heel of his boot. The leftover crumbs that only vaguely resembled something electronic he put into his pocket.

“It’s done, time to get out of here”, he said, both towards Genji and for Sombra over the comms. 

They took the same route back through the dimly lit hallways and with every turn that led into another empty hallway, they relaxed. This might actually work out. The only thing left was for Hanzo to get out safely, after the meeting was done. It would be a piece of cake for him, he just had to play the disgruntled yakuza boy.

They turned the last corner, heading for the steel door, Hanzo had opened for them when Jesse remembered the little pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his vest.

He pulled it out, tapped one from the pack and checked his other pockets for a lighter. His grin only broadened when he actually found one. Things were finally going right for once.

When Genji noticed that Jesse was no longer right behind him, he turned and shot him a reprehensive glare.

Jesse shrugged with an expression that dared Genji to say something and took a deep drag.

He revelled in the feeling of the smoke rolling over his tongue and down his windpipe and for a moment, Jesse honestly believed that they were done. Until there was a red light blinking furiously over their heads accompanied by the ear-splitting blaring of an alarm.

“Oh shit…”

Genji was suddenly next to him,  _ katana _ in hand.

“You’re not only trying your best, you have already convinced me that you’re a colossal idiot, Jesse McCree!”

Sombra’s voice crackled over the comms: “Yes, that bunker has an antiquated fire detection system. And I thought that was not a detail I needed to mention. Obviously, I was wrong.”

They whirled around, sprinting for the steel door at the end of the hallway. Jesse put all his strength into trying to move the lever, but it just wouldn’t budge. The door was sealed.

“Jesse!”

Behind them, a partition made out of the same thick steel slid from the ceiling towards the ground. Genji tried to pull Jesse forward, but it was obvious that they would never make it. The noise with which it hit the concrete was eerily final. They were trapped.

He heard Genji curse and then there was Sombra, frantically talking in his ear.

“I can unlock the outer door for you, I’d just need-”

“No!”

The silence was deafening. Genji whirled around to him, a look of utter disbelief on his face.

“What?” That was both Sombra and Genji’s voices. And they both sounded like they thought, that Jesse had lost his mind.

“Don’t unlock it.”

“Jesse, what are y-”; Genji started, but Jesse put a hand on his shoulder, interrupting him. 

“They know something is wrong. If we disappear now, they’ll realise that somebody was in here. They will cancel that meeting and turn the whole damn bunker inside out. They will know that somebody messed with their computers.”

“I can set off more alarms throughout the facility, make it look like a malfunction, like you were never there”, Sombra said quickly, ready to blow the whole damn thing up if it meant getting her friends out of peril.

“It’s too risky. They might still search through the area. No, we’ll stay, play dumb and hope for the best.”

Genji grit his teeth, Sombra said nothing. They could already hear the heavy footfalls of numerous boots on the other side of the partition. 

“You don’t have to play that, Jesse”, Genji growled, as the compartment was slowly pushed upwards. When a tiny, cylindrical container rolled through the small gap between compartment and floor, they shared a quick glance. 

“Well, shit.”

Then the container started spitting heavy, thick smoke.

 

In the middle of their meeting, while the head honcho who had called this meeting was droning on about how they would be able to take the big clans out of the picture one after the other with Talon’s help, an alarm started blaring over their heads. For the fraction of a second Hanzo was unable to control his expression, the panic and worry that something had happened to his brother and Jesse took over his rational thinking and he fought hard to hide it. A quick glance around, if somebody had noticed, showed him, though, that he needn’t worry. Everyone in the room looked nervous and alarmed and he blended right into the twitchy whispers.

A big part of the present yakuza people hightailed it immediately, rushing to the safety of their vehicles and their own security to disappear into the night. Talons mercenaries had to let them go to not endanger the negotiations. The only people left after a hectic twenty minutes of scrambling for the entrance were the hard-assed core, old yakuza who wouldn’t be fazed by something as simple as a fire alarm going off. And who knew - maybe there would be something interesting to see. Hanzo acted his part as the ice-cold heir and joined the five bosses and their entourage who were taken deeper into the base to take a look at the intruders.

Hanzo was desperately hoping they were alive.

 

The room was dim, with a low ceiling, but so wide it was hard to see where it ended. 

They were tied up, on their knees with their hands behind their backs. Jesse was coughing violently - that tear gas did not come unexpected, but he was still heavily affected, his eyes burning, every rasping gasp searing fire through his throat. Genji’s cyborg body could bear it much easier.

They had stripped them of their weapons, Genji’s swords and Jesse’s Peacekeeper lay far out of their reach on the ground. One of the mercenaries aimed a kick at Jesse’s side, he grunted and doubled over, the other mercenaries and the people slowly filing into the room laughed. They formed a circle around their prisoners, leering at them from out of the darkness. Hanzo tried his best not to look at the faces around them, trying to find the one that was familiar, that would be their only chance of getting out of this.

Shit, this was bad. Jesse did his best to stay upright, his body still wracked by coughs and the pain of bruised ribs with every choked breath. It had been his stupidity that had gotten them in this situation. His stupidity would get Genji and him killed. Because Jesse didn’t have any illusions where this was going to end. If they were lucky they would have the mercy to kill them quickly. It was much more likely, though that they would try to torture information out of them first. They had any reason to do so, after all.

“We need to find out who they’re loyal to. Why they’re here”, a rough voice said from the darkness somewhere behind him.

“Maybe they got a bounty on their heads, too”, someone else said.

Jesse let out a barely audible breath. It was looking grim. It would be a miracle if they could somehow get out of this. The calm confidence Genji radiated from next to him was almost unnerving. Somehow, Jesse wished he would have listened more closely when Genji had told him about the lessons of his sensei.

Funny, how in the face of almost certain death you remember all the shit you regret. And Jesse regretted a lot of things, especially lately. Just a long string of stupid decisions.

The voice of a stocky yakuza pulled Jesse from his musings. He had stepped forward and picked up one of Genji’s swords, inspecting the blade closely in the dim light. 

“You know, why don’t we have a little fun after those boring negotiations? Who the hell cares who these two idiots are? They’re amateurs!”, he laughed and turned towards the audience, opening his arms wide, “I mean, they were stupid enough to trip a smoke alarm.” His words earned him a round of relaxed, gleeful laughter. He held up the sword, it glinted in the light. “Their gear is nice, though. And they look somewhat capable. Why not let them fight each other? Sword against sword! The survivor can still be cashed in for bounty. Or, hell, we could raffle him out and the winner could ship him off to a brothel, whatever they please.”

The answering rumble of voices was both approving and doubtful at the same time. Another voice piped up from the crowd.

“And why would they fight each other?”

The man who still held Genji’s sword only hesitated for a moment. “Well, we’ll kill them if they don’t.”

He turned back to Genji and Jesse, the look on his face was dark, sinister, thirsting for blood and violence.

“You boys can choose. Either you fight and one of you is granted a quick death or we torture both of you until you forget your own names and wish you had accepted the fight. And trust me”, he leaned forward, the grin on his face twisted into an ugly grimace, “we know how to keep you alive through the pain for a long, long time.”

The mood switched, there were more approving voices now than before, everyone seemed to be lusting for a spectacle, in whichever way they could get it. 

“What do you say?”, the yakuza asked, still caught in his mock bow.

“We’ll fight”, came the calm answer from Genji.

Jesse threw a glance at him from the corner of his eye. Genji wasn’t looking at him but he looked more relaxed now, almost eager. What was his plan? Jesse felt like there was something he was missing, something he had ought to understood a long time ago. He racked his brain, tried to remember what had been said, the gestures, the words, but his brain refused to put the puzzle pieces together. Suddenly someone else raised their voice and Jesse had to fight hard to hide his flinch. 

“Give the cyborg the shorter sword. The cowboy doesn’t look like he has ever held one in his life. That fight would be over way too soon. It would be boring.”

It was Hanzo! He was there. 

And all of a sudden, Genji’s calm made sense. It all made sense.

Jesse’s racing heart slowed, his breath evened out. Maybe there was a chance to survive this. 

Hanzo watched, as the mercenaries yanked Jesse and Genji roughly up from the floor. Their hands were untied, and Genji’s swords thrown towards them. The guards formed a circle around them, pointing their weapons. Hanzo stepped closer, seemingly feigning interest in the fight. In truth he was hoping for a miracle himself. It was impossible for Genji to deflect all the bullets aimed at him from automatic rifles. And even if he could do it, that still left Jesse vulnerable, who was in an even worse condition than Genji was. His hands were shaking as he scrambled for the  _ katana _ , he curled one arm protectively around his chest, trying to keep himself on his feet, his eyes were red and swollen. 

“Begin!”, someone yelled and Genji picked up his  _ wakizashi _ , playing his up his advantage by moving slowly. The crowd liked it, they just wanted a good show.

Then Jesse turned, just a little, just enough and caught Hanzo’s eyes. In his gaze Hanzo could see everything he could never read before. There were no secrets or walls left. He saw Jesse’s plea, his trust and he saw his apology.

And then Jesse tossed Hanzo the  _ katana _ . 

It only took the span of two heartbeats for the world to explode around them: Jesse dropped to the floor, flattening himself against the concrete as the first volley of bullets whipped over him, towards Genji who deflected it with his  _ wakizashi _ , the three men directly to his left fell, and then there was Hanzo, gripping the unfamiliar weight of his brother’s  _ katana _ tightly in his hand. Their voices called upon their dragons like one and everything became light and fire, blue and green, blinding, searing, the deafening sound of drums and hot wind. 

The world was robbed of all sounds as Hanzo and Genji whirled through the room in a deadly storm of blades and dragons, tearing, ripping, clawing, biting, screams of terror of the enemies that weren’t felled by Genji’s sword. The air was heavy with an electricity that made the hairs on the back of Jesse’s neck stand on end as he lay there on the floor, unable to move, his heart hammering in his throat. He felt the same panic rise in him that he had felt in the shooting range. The presence of those spirits was overwhelming and he finally understood how much it took for Hanzo, how much strength he needed to keep them always under control. 

He had known of Genji’s dragon, knew that Zenyatta’s support had helped him a great deal with his control., but they had never really talked about it that much. Jesse just accepted the spirits as a special talent, like he could use the Deadeye, without being able to understand or explain why the world seemed to stop for a second only to him.

The glowing beings that were currently wreaking havoc in the room, leaving no one alive, were a whole different matter entirely.

He couldn’t tell how much time had passed until the glow lessened, until the brightness vanished and took the sound with it. A heavy silence settled upon them like ashes after a fire, colouring everything grey and dull. He looked down and there, to his feet were Genji and Hanzo, the was blood splattered on their faces and arms and chests, it dripped from the blades of their swords. They were calm. Hanzo exhaled and cleaned the sword with the tail of his jacket until the blade shone. Then he held it out to Genji with both hands.

Genji nodded as he took it and in any other situation he would have smiled, moved by the gesture.

Jesse couldn’t help but stare at Hanzo. His thoughts were racing, touching on the dragons that had spared him and stopped to make him relive the way Hanzo’s movements flowed with his sword as if he had never done anything else. He moved less quickly than his brother, calmer but not any less precise. He was on the verge of tipping into an abyss of realising how much wrong he had done to Hanzo and the burning desire to take Hanzo’s face and kiss him until they were out of breath and maybe, just maybe there was that little part of him that told him how wildly inappropriate that would be right now, when he heard Sombra’s voice through the comms.

“Alright, okay, I have no idea what just happened.”

Jesse sighed wearily and rubbed his aching eyes in an attempt to ground himself.

“We will have to explain this to Winston.  _ I _ will have to explain this to Winston. And we will need…”

“...a mighty big explosion?”, Sombra finished his sentence. Jesse didn’t find it in himself to laugh.

“Exactly. Too bad Fawkes ain’t here.”

 

\---

 

The Helicarrier landed right next to the comm tower on the base and Genji, Hanzo and Jesse were never happier to feel the dreary tarmac under their feet. After they had safely made it to the carrier (they had to half drag, half support Jesse all the way from the bunker as he was dizzy, half blind from the teargas and in tremendous pain from his bruised ribs) and patched Jesse up as best they could with the contents of the carrier’s first aid kid, Sombra had offered to hide their tracks as best she could. She would make it seem like as if Talon had gotten wind of its sub-organisations embezzling money for themselves and taught them a lesson. That should at least turn away all those who had still been tentative about allying with Talon and significantly weaken the trust of the clans in Talon. Any evidence that might have been left was destroyed when Sombra exploded the whole complex after they were a safe distance away.

They would have a lot to explain, but at least the mission was no total failure. They had accomplished exactly what they had set out to do - although a great deal more violent than intended: Talon would need time to scramble and recruit allies and that gave Overwatch a valuable window of opportunity.

Winston was already waiting for them on the landing pad, waving at them with his huge hand.

“I have a preliminary report of the mission and that’s good enough for me for now. Go, get cleaned up, rest. We’ll do the debriefing tomorrow. There’s no reason anyone else but me needs to spend a sleepless night tonight. You’re dismissed. Shimada Hanzo”, he turned to face Hanzo now, “I have all the necessary paperwork done, you can sign them tomorrow, should you not change your mind and stay in light of today’s mission.”

Genji and Jesse tried their hardest to not stare at Hanzo in absolute disbelief and Hanzo cursed in silence that that damned ape had put him on the spot on purpose.

He just nodded curtly, turned and left them all where they were, hurrying towards his quarters. Jesse started after him, but Genji caught him by the sleeve and shook his head. Hanzo would come to them when he was ready. He was sure of it.

 

Jesse sat on the metal floor of the comm tower once again, a bottle in one hand, a cigarette in the other and looked out over the bay, watching the stars dance on the soft waves of the Mediterranean Sea. They were supposed to meet up with Winston in a couple of hours and even though he needed to sleep, he really, desperately needed this more. So, after he had peeled his filthy clothes from his body and stood under the scalding spray of his shower for longer than he wanted to admit, he had climbed up on  _ his _ tower to try and calm his mind. It didn’t take long and he felt Genji next to him. He didn’t hear him, but he knew he was there.

Genji plucked the bottle from Jesse’s hand and drank.

“That’s wasting”, Jesse griped.

“I just want the taste. Maybe you should try taking that to heart from time to time”, he replied. 

Alcohol was indeed wasted on Genji. It didn’t have any intoxicating effects, nor did it ever reach his digestive track. Because he didn’t even have one. But Genji enjoyed the taste and indulged every now and then, drinking tea or whiskey, just to have the flavour on his tongue.

“Did you know, Genji?”

“No, but I guessed.”

“And you didn’t try to stop him?”

“You didn’t either, if my memory serves me right.”

Jesse frowned, staring out into the sea.  _ That _ had hit home.

“You know, his stubbornness reminds me of a certain cowboy. It pains me that it causes him so much unrest to be here”, Jesse actually looked at Genji to make sure that sentence had come from his friend because it could just as well have been Zenyatta saying that, “but it is his decision and I’ll have to accept it.”

“But, you have to…”, Jesse started desperately, not really knowing where he was going with his plea.

“I am not going to solve your problems for you, Jesse.”

Jesse wasn’t sure how much Genji actually knew and how much he filled in the blanks. He wanted to apologise, but finally understood that Genji was the wrong person to do so. He had to talk to Hanzo, even though his chance had come and gone and he had done nothing.

“Sometimes”, Genji said, looking out over the bay, “rivers plunge into an abyss, they hurtle over the edge and continue as a calm creek. Sometimes that fall is a part of the river.”

Jesse really wanted to hurtle  _ him _ over the edge, even though he was right. Because he was right.

Genji twisted around and passed the bottle on. And then Jesse realised that behind them stood Hanzo. He had no idea how long he had been standing there.  _ Cursed be those goddamn, silent assassins. _

“I won’t talk you into staying”, Genji said, his voice soft, gentle.

“And I am grateful for that.” Hanzo bowed slightly and Jesse wanted to scream.

“Well,” Genji said, getting to his feet easily, “we all had a long day, so I’m gonna go crash. I think there’s some things you two need to sort out.” He patted Jesse’s shoulder and disappeared down the stairs without making a sound.

He had done all he could. Now he had to have faith in his friend and his brother.


	10. Washed Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: There has been a little goof with the second part of this chapter. And by little goof, I mean the entire second part somehow got lost. We have no idea how that happened, but it is fixed now.
> 
> Sorry for anyone who read this the first go around and got confused by the lack of Hanzo angst.

Hanzo kneeled down next to Jesse, handing the bottle back to him. 

Jesse took a sip, then said: “Just so you know, I have held a sword before today.”

To his surprise, Hanzo huffed out something that was suspiciously close to a laugh. 

“It certainly didn’t look that way.”

“You try fighting off your brother when you can barely see and every move hurts like hell because some fucker decided it’d look cool if he kicked you in the ribs.”

“Technically, you did not fight Genji.”

Jesse handed the bottle back to Hanzo.

“I did get kicked in the ribs, though.”

Hanzo took a sip and shot him a glance from the corner of his eyes.

“How are those ribs?”

Jesse stretched, wincing slightly. 

“Still a bit sore, but those special bandages Ange gave out really helped. I can at least breathe without feeling like I’m going to die.”

Hanzo hummed but didn’t say anything else. Instead he took another long sip, then cradled the bottle in his lap, staring down at his hands. The silence dragged out for so long that Jesse started to feel uncomfortable. Eventually, just to break the heaviness, he said: 

“That was quite the show you pulled back there with your dragons. Impressive and absolutely fucking terrifying.”

He thought it was an easy topic, something light to make Hanzo laugh, but he didn’t say anything, still staring down at his hands, back rigidly straight.

“The last time I wielded a sword”, Hanzo said, his voice quiet and small and broken, “was the night I killed Genji.”

Jesse opened his mouth, then shut it again, not knowing what to say. It felt like his stomach was bottoming out, every phrase that wanted to be said would sound misplaced right now. Then Hanzo continued. 

“I swore to never touch a sword ever again after that. And I never did.”

Hanzo’s tone of voice struck something deep inside Jesse and he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

“You saved our lives tonight with that sword. We’d have never made it out of there alive.”

Hanzo scoffed.

“You’re the one who threw the  _ katana _ at me. You forced me to break my oath.”

Jesse swallowed, his mouth was suddenly very dry. The guilt hit him like a punch to the face.

“I didn’t-”

“Thank you.”

That… was not the reaction he had expected.

“What?”, Jesse said bluntly.

“I… can’t explain, but I feel… better. Like a weight has been taken off of me and I could breathe easier.”

The warm glow that Hanzo’s words sparked in Jesse’s chest was immediately dampened by the realisation that none of this mattered anyway.

“But you’re still gonna leave.” He could taste the bitterness of that sentence on his tongue. It mixed with the smoke of cigars and the burn of the cheap whiskey that made his heart feel heavier than he had ever felt before.

Hanzo kept his eyes on the line of the horizon.

“I must.”

“I wouldn’t know what’s forcing ye to, pardner.”

Now Hanzo did look at Jesse, tilting his head slightly. His face was not betraying any of his thoughts and Jesse tried his best to hide his desperation that was certainly right there, screaming at Hanzo from behind his eyes. He already knew it was a doomed effort.

Hanzo didn’t answer immediately. Instead he reached out, snatched the pack of cigarettes from next to McCree’s leg and lit up. He took the time for a deep drag before he spoke: 

“I have my own demons and I will not take them to your battlefield. It is my own, something I have to fight on my own.”

Why had he never seen it? Had he really cared so little that he had ignored what was right there, under his nose? Jesse was a stupid, stubborn idiot and had only finally put the pieces together when it was already too late. And maybe it was that too late that made him brave now.

“If you want to look at it that way, we are all fighting our own demons here. I mean, look at me, I failed miserably and it’s getting even worse now that I’m trying to make it right.”

Now it was Jesse’s turn to avoid Hanzo’s eyes. Instead he had suddenly developed an intense interest with the contents of his whiskey bottle. 

“Trying to make what right?”

The positive thing about failing is that there’s some point where one just doesn’t care anymore. Hanzo had just pushed Jesse past that point. Also the alcohol probably played its part.

“What happened on the range. I.. fuck, I’m so sorry. I was an asshole and I’m sorry and I wish I could take everything back.”

Hanzo snorted bitterly.

“No! No, not take  _ that _ back, just.. Damnit! You’re really not giving me any ground here. I mean… I.. I wish I had done it the right way.”

Hanzo had the nerve to raise an eyebrow.

“I mean, we should do this right.”

The eyebrow stayed where it was.

“What I’m saying is... Fucking hell, Hanzo!!” He gestured vaguely with the bottle in his hand, his words failing him. “Could you throw me a fucking bone? I’m hanging on by a thread here.”

Hanzo snatched the bottle from Jesse’s fingers and took a swig, before he let Jesse off the hook. 

_ It doesn’t matter anymore anyway. _

“So you think, you could do better then?”, he said and gave Jesse a little nudge with his shoulder. Then he drank again. A lot.

“Well, I can do a hell of a lot better than running away, that’s for sure. I’m sorry, I-”

“Then do better.”

Jesse just stared at him for a moment, unable to grasp those three words. 

“For real?”

“I’ll say no if you ask again.”

Jesse stared just a moment longer, then reached out for Hanzo’s hand, that was still holding the bottle and guided it to his lips. There was a slight tremor when he drank, though Jesse couldn’t tell if it was coming from Hanzo or himself. His voice was rough from more than just alcohol and cigars when he spoke again. 

“Aight, I’ll take that. We should probably get outta here, though. And I ain’t promising any fireworks.”

 

Jesse couldn’t tell how they had gotten to his quarters in the end, but he was thankful for the darkness. He hadn’t exactly been expecting company and his room looked the part with clothes strewn about haphazardly and the odd empty bottle and bag of chips nestled in between. Come to think of it, Jesse was also thankful for the empty whiskey bottle that lay forgotten on the comm tower.

Jesse had let them inside, but now was at a loss at what to do next. And Hanzo wasn’t giving him the slightest bit of rope, crossing his arms over his chest.

He cleared his throat, turning towards Hanzo, the both of them still standing by the door. 

“Okay. Now we’re here. And we’re gonna do this the right way. For real.”

“That’s what I expected, yes.”

There it was again, that raised eyebrow. Jesse exhaled shakily and stepped closer to Hanzo. He could feel the warmth that radiated off of him and suddenly Jesse didn’t know what to do with his hands. They just hung uselessly at his sides and he felt like his arms were too long, too heavy. He really wanted to put his hands on Hanzo’s hips, wanted to curl his fingers into his skin and pull him close, but it seemed like too much - or too little, so he just left them at his sides. Shit, this had been a lot easier when it was all a heat-of-the-moment sort of thing, when he let his instinct dictate what he would do next. When he switched off his brain and just  _ felt _ . 

He swallowed drily and caught Hanzo’s gaze. He was still wearing that impenetrable expression, no sign of nervousness or any kind of emotion, really. This was not, like.. helping. Fuck it, he had talked Hanzo into this, so he would have to take the first step. Right?

He tried to ignore how stupid he felt and reached for the ribbon that held Hanzo’s hair together. Hanzo flinched, only a little and Jesse froze, searching for his gaze again. Hanzo looked at him steadily and didn’t move away, so Jesse continued. He tugged at the ribbon until it came loose and cringed when Hanzo grimaced.

“Sorry! Too much?”

“Keep going. Don’t apologise!” His voice was just as steady and low, his breath flitting over Jesse’s cheek. Jesse exhaled, trying to calm his nerves. He really wanted to run his fingers through Hanzo’s thick hair, wanted to feel the strands between his fingers, the way it fell and curled on his shoulders. Now that, too, seemed like too much, too intimate (which was ironic, considering what they were here to do). Instead, Jesse took Hanzo’s hand hesitantly and led him away from the door towards the bed.

Hanzo let him, sat down at the edge and scooted backwards. At least he was doing something now, but it still did nothing to ease Jesse’s tension. He climbed onto the bed himself and stretched out beside Hanzo. 

Only then did Jesse notice that they hadn’t kissed. Not since the shooting range. If one could even call that kissing. And it was a ridiculous thought, really, as if you had to kiss someone to have sex with them. As if that was some rule set in stone. 

But Jesse wanted to kiss him. He wanted to feel Hanzo’s lips move against his, wanted to hear him sigh into his mouth. He had never understood why one would long for the warmth of the partner’s tongue and now it was the only thing he wanted to feel.

He pressed his face into Hanzo’s, bringing their lips together and slipped his tongue into Hanzo’s mouth and it tasted great, but it really didn’t feel right. His hands slid down to Hanzo’s ass, gripping and squeezing and still it weirded him out, felt wrong, artificial, embarrassingly stupid.

_ This isn’t it, it’s not good, not what he wanted. Just stop! _

“Is it… okay? Should I stop?” The question sounded even more stupid when it was out of his mouth.

“Just don’t ask. Keep going!”, but there was a frown on Hanzo’s face and it’s not right, not what Jesse had seen on the shooting range. It was not the right thing and with every movement of his body, with every gesture, every touch he just felt worse.

In one last, desperate attempt, he heaved himself on top of Hanzo, letting his weight press down on him. Jesse could hear him breathe out.

“You liked this better, didn’t you?”  _ Oh, how much he wanted to slap himself right now. _

Hanzo hesitated a moment, then sighed and finally, blessedly gave Jesse that little piece of rope he had been scrabbling for.

“Who said that? Maybe I prefer it the other way around?”

Suddenly his arms were around Jesse and he rolled them over. But he had overestimated the strength he’d need and overshot, rolling on top of Jesse and further still, passing over the edge of the bed.

With the grace that was about that of a hundred pound bag of rice, Hanzo hit the floor with a muffled, but quite undignified  _ thud _ .

Jesse stayed where he was, only daring to move after a few heartbeats had passed. He shifted onto his side and peered over the edge of the bed. And there he was, the fallen heir of a yakuza-empire, a bed sheet wrapped around his legs, looking decidedly dishevelled and only a little worse for wear as he covered his eyes with one hand.

Before the little part of his brain that was still able to form coherent thoughts could get its warning out, an incredibly inappropriate laugh bubbled from Jesse’s throat. And he couldn’t stop it.

Hanzo couldn’t help but stare at him, nonplussed and fascinated that this was the way he would lose that last shred of his dignity: on the floor of McCree’s room between dirty clothes, tangled in his bed sheet while the man himself laughed at him from the bed.

Jesse rested his chin on the edge of the bed, still laughing uncontrollably.

“Oh, wow.. Sorry..”, he wheezed out, “shit, are you okay? I just..”, wheeze, “sorry, Hanzo, that just looked too fucking funny, the way you just went..”, the rest got lost in more laughter. 

Hanzo had never seen him that way. Had never seen his gaze so warm and inviting and open, the laughter bringing tears to his eyes that he didn’t even bother to wipe away.

Eventually Jesse managed to calm down enough to offer Hanzo his hand and help him up. Although, when Hanzo took his hand, he smiled (smirked, really) and yanked hard, sending Jesse tumbling to the floor with him.

“So, did you fall for me then?”, he said when Jesse landed halfway on top of him, halfway on the floor and it was so cheesy and Jesse was still laughing and because it didn’t feel like losing, not really, Hanzo laughed as well. It felt right, the warmth, the familiarity, the easiness, so he let the most embarrassing snorting laughs come over his lips he had probably ever uttered in his entire life. And it was good.

They were both still grinning like idiots, lying right there on the floor in front of Jesse’s bed and Jesse gently touched the tips of his fingers to Hanzo’s cheek.

“You look beautiful when you laugh. I have never seen you like this before.”

“You know, it is really hard to laugh when you’re looking at me like you want to murder me any second. There really wasn’t much reason for me to laugh.”

Jesse frowned, feeling even more like a fool now.

Hanzo pulled Jesse’s face closer. He didn’t want to see this expression. More often than not he had looked into a mirror and hated the regret that stared back at him. He wanted to see the laughter in those brown eyes again. He wanted to make him forget about the past and make room for the present.

Jesse exhaled, getting the hint. Then slowly, very slowly, he closed the distance between them. When their lips met; it was soft and gentle and he could taste all the words that they had never said before and the faint hope of something else, something more, on the tip of his tongue.

Supporting his weight with his prosthetic hand, Jesse brought his right hand, his own hand up to trace the shape of Hanzo’s high cheekbones. He closed his eyes and his whole world seemed to shrink down around the way Hanzo’s lips felt against his, the taste of Hanzo’s tongue, his own pulse hammering loudly in his ears. Hanzo slid his hand over the soft hair on the back of Jesse’s neck and pulled him even closer, carefully at first, then demanding, wanting to feel as much of him against himself as he could get. 

Jesse couldn’t stop himself from pushing Hanzo back into the floor, following him down, not wanting to break the kiss. He let his fingers wander down Hanzo’s jaw, along the side of his neck and lower over the hardness of his chest and Hanzo’s breath hitched in his throat when Jesse’s touch grazed his hard nipples. The sound of it went straight to Jesse’s groin and he wanted to commit the face Hanzo made to memory. Those hooded eyes, dark and promising were looking at him. Jesse thought he had never seen someone pull off a mix between plea and order as perfectly as Hanzo did when Jesse’s hand disappeared under Hanzo’s shirt. The warmth of Hanzo’s skin beneath his fingertips made him long for more, he wanted to feel, to touch every inch of Hanzo’s body. He was suddenly very aware of the heat of Hanzo’s hands that were searing the skin of Jesse’s hips, clenching just a bit, pullling Jesse down against himself just a bit more and he loved it.

It felt as if Hanzo’s touch spread fire through Jesse’s entire body and he only broke the kiss reluctantly to sit back on his heels between Hanzo’s legs. He made a show of popping the buttons of his shirt, knowing Hanzo’s eyes on him, following every movement of his fingers as he went. He shrugged his shirt back and down his shoulders. Hanzo brought an arm behind himself to prop up his torso and reached down, trailing feathery soft touches along Jesse’s chest, his exposed stomach, gently passing over the bruise that marred the side of Jesse’s ribcage.

“I’m sorry for yanking you down here. That must have hurt.”

Jesse smiled. “‘M fine. And it was well worth it.”

Hanzo returned the smile with a raised eyebrow, hooked his fingers into the belt loops of Jesse’s jeans and pulled him closer. Jesse had never imagined that it would be like this, when he looked down at Hanzo deftly undoing his belt buckle. He should have been the one setting the pace, partly because he was used to doing just that and partly because it had been him who had promised Hanzo to “do this the right way” - whatever that meant. And now “right” had somehow turned into Jesse crouched in between Hanzo’s spread legs, Hanzo’s hand rubbing at his crotch through his jeans. And never had anything felt more right in his entire life.

He swallowed.

Hanzo immediately picked up on the change in Jesse’s stance and froze.

“Are you… feeling comfortable?”

Comfortable was an understatement. He nodded insistently, dropping his hand to help Hanzo undo his belt and zipper and then Hanzo wrapped his fingers around his hard cock and Jesse forgot everything for the short span of a moment.

“Eager, hm?” Hanzo’s voice was deep and low and Jesse wanted to hear that voice whisper filthy things into his ear until he begged him for more. 

He smirked and let his fingers pass over the ridges of Hanzo’s abs and squeeze his hardness through hanzo’s pants. 

“Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.”

“Touche, cowboy”, and then Hanzo twisted his hand just a little around Jesse’s cock, smearing his precum around the tip with his thumb and every reply Jesse might have been thinking of, got lost as his head started to swim. If he ever wanted to make good on his promise he would have to get those wicked hands off his cock or he would lose it.

Jesse grit his teeth. “Fuck, yes, I’m eager. Have you  _ looked _ at yourself lately?” With tremendous effort, he twisted his hips to dislodge Hanzo’s fingers, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Hanzo’s smiling lips. Between the heat of their bodies Jesse fumbled with the waistband of Hanzo’s pants and made his way down Hanzo’s body, pulling his pants and shorts down as he went. 

Impatiently he bent down between Hanzo’s legs, kissing the tip of Hanzo’s cock and swirled his tongue over the velvety skin. He could listen to the noises Hanzo made all day. The moan that tumbled from Hanzo’s mouth when Jesse closed his lips around the tip, sliding down the length sent a wave of shivers down his spine. This was just too good. He wanted to push Hanzo towards the edge he was teetering on himself, an edge he didn’t know he’d ever been this close to. Even now that he was bobbing his head up and down Hanzo’s cock, Jesse was so close to letting go by just the noises he was making alone.

“McCree… I can’t”, Hanzo moaned, his voice choked and heavy and heady and McCree pulled back for only a second.

“Then don’t.”

Hanzo groaned and bucked his hips into the welcoming heat of Jesse’s mouth as he sunk down on him once again. Jesse wanted to taste him, wanted to feel him come undone and shatter. And he wanted it to be his doing, wanted to be the reason for his moans and gasps. He wrapped his left hand around the base of Hanzo’s cock, pumping up and down and took as much of him as he could in his mouth, swallowing around him. Hanzo’s hips stuttered and jerked as he came and for a moment his moans stopped, then he let out a string of noises that Jesse was sure he would never tire of hearing. It was hoarse and vulnerable, arousing to the point of pain and he spilled himself in Jesse’s waiting mouth. 

Jesse took everything Hanzo gave, swallowing every drop, keeping his hand wrapped around Hanzo’s base, slowly pumping; his other hand smoothed over Hanzo’s stomach that was rising and falling rapidly with his pants. When he felt Hanzo’s movements slow beneath him, Jesse let go and Hanzo sighed in relief. He stayed where he was, his face rested against the inside of Hanzo’s thigh, watching Hanzo ride through the aftershocks and he couldn’t remember ever seeing anything more erotic. He wanted to see it again.

“You good, darling?”, Jesse murmured, gently touching the side of Hanzo’s face and something in his chest jumped when he opened his eyes and looked at him, his pupils blown so wide it was hard to distinguish between the back and the dark brown of his irises.

“I am, thank you.” He made an effort to push himself up from the floor. “Now you..”

Jesse stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“No way. I ain’t done yet.”

Hanzo let out a noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh as Jesse stretched above him and snatched a little bottle of lube from his bedside table. He popped the lid and squeezed a liberal amount onto his fingers. Hanzo let his head fall back as Jesse spread the lube between his cheeks, gently circling the entrance. When he dipped the first digit of his forefinger inside, Jesse could have sworn that Hanzo  _ mewled _ (something he would deny later) and it drove Jesse mad. It took a lot of restraint to go slowly, but Jesse did, pushing into the heat of Hanzo’s body as if he was asking a question. He saw Hanzo’s jaw clench and started rubbing gentle circles on Hanzo’s stomach, calming, soothing. And then, to his surprise, Hanzo jerked his hips, only a little, but enough that it couldn’t be mistaken for what it was: an urging, a plea for more.

“Easy there…”, Jesse murmured and was struggling to follow his own advice. The way Hanzo was pulling him in, without Jesse actually moving into him, told Jesse everything he needed to know. He felt Hanzo’s cock twitch against his hand, slowly hardening again as Jesse added a second finger. He shook his head.

“You’re killing me here, Hanzo.”

”What… ah… should I say… then?”, he gasped and the way he would throw his head back, his lips slightly parted did things to Jesse he never thought they could. It was absolute torture to try and hold on.

“Do it… already..”, Hanzo moaned and Jesse would have. He wanted to, but he wanted to do this right, wanted to make Hanzo beg and writhe on his fingers, wanted him ready.

“Ask nicely”, he whispered and as much effort it cost him to get those words out, their effect was worth it. 

Hanzo growled deep in his throat, glaring defiantly at Jesse. Instead of an answer, Hanzo pushed himself insistently deeper onto Jesse’s fingers. The sight of him, dishevelled and moaning made Jesse’s cock ache with need. He was desperate to feel Hanzo around him, fighting hard to keep at least that last shred of control over himself. But two could play this game.

He took Hanzo’s cock into his free hand, setting a lazy rhythm. Then Jesse curled his fingers inside him just the right way. Hanzo’s back arched, his moan got choked off, then continued in a shaky sigh as he fell back, his hips twitching against Jesse. 

“Stop… teasing”, Hanzo panted and Jesse just grinned. He leaned forward again, brought his mouth close to Hanzo’s ear. 

“Make me.”

Hanzo’s hands curled into Jesse’s hips, sliding between his legs, rubbing insistently at Jesse’s hardness and Jesse’s brain shorted out. He had to keep holding on, keep his grip, he was not done yet.

“Just say it”, he moaned into Hanzo’s ear, his self-control slipping dangerously.

“Fuck me, McCree!” His voice was hoarse and low and so heady, that demand almost pushed Jesse over the edge.

But then, Jesse stopped. He kept his hands were they were, unmoving, unforgiving.

Hanzo mewled.

“What th..?”

Jesse grinned and cocked his head.

“I have my fingers up your glorious ass, so I reckon we’re way past the last names. It’s Jesse.”

“I may..” Hanzo’s gaze was defiant and Jesse curled his fingers again. Hanzo almost melted against him.

“You will.”

“I… ah… will”

Jesse rewarded him with a few more strokes on his cock and Hanzo pushed down onto his fingers again, wanting, begging for more.

Only now Jesse let go of Hanzo’s cock and took himself into his left hand. With a wicked grin, Jesse took some of the leftover lube form Hanzo’s ass and spread it over his cock, pumping up and down a few times. He kept his other hand slowly moving in and out of Hanzo and the way Hanzo looked at him, flushed and full of desire made Jesse swallow hard.

“You ready?”, Jesse breathed and curled his fingers inside Hanzo again, for good measure.

Hanzo opened his mouth, but couldn’t get the word out, he was breathing so hard, so he just nodded. Jesse removed his fingers, pulling a needy growl from Hanzo’s lips and positioned himself at his entrance. The heat of his soft skin almost made Jesse’s brain white out and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep his grip.

Hanzo moved his hips teasingly along Jesse’s length, urging against him in an effort to push him further and all Jesse’s body urged him to do right then was just plunge himself into Hanzo’s heat and fuck both their brains out.

Instead, Jesse closed his eyes and eased himself forward, past the tight ring of muscles and further still. He needed this to last, wanted to draw it out as long as he could. Inch by inch, he sank into Hanzo, feeling him tremble and twitch underneath his hands. He couldn’t look at him, couldn’t imagine the way his face looked, trapped between pleasure and pain or he was sure he wouldn’t be able to hold on.

“Go-h.. fuck, Jesse..”, Hanzo moaned as Jesse bottomed out inside him and reached up to grab hold of Jesse, curling his hands into Jesse’s shoulder, scrabbling for any purchase he could find. His name on Hanzo’s tongue was all, Jesse wanted to hear. He couldn’t stay still any longer, couldn’t ask, couldn’t stop. He bent down to kiss Hanzo, drinking in his moans as he pulled back, then thrust into him again. Hanzo’s heat was searing around Jesse’s cock, his body melting, arching, shaping against his and it was perfect and just right.

Jesse picked up pace, not slow and deliberate, but quick and deep, almost erratic in his movements. He had lost complete control over his body, any restraint he had had was gone. Not that Hanzo minded, really, his moans and the way he pushed down against Jesse were proof enough. Jesse broke the kiss, panting, gasping for air. He felt dizzy, the onslaught of emotions and sensations overwhelming and he could feel himself hurtle towards the edge. 

“I can’t.. Fuck, I can’t handle this for long”, Jesse breathed and only when he heard Hanzo groan in response did he realise that he had said it out loud. 

Before Jesse could say anything else, Hanzo responded with his body, pushing down, pushing closer, urging him on with his hips. Hanzo growled breathlessly and tried to hold himself against Jesse’s hips, taking as much of him as he could get. It was too much for Jesse, he was so close. He all but fell forward and kissed him again, hungrily. His thrusts turned hard and fast he couldn’t take it, couldn’t control his movements and then Hanzo kept going. The heat, the pressure, the way, Hanzo would press up against him with as much as he could give was all it took and Jesse almost screamed as he came.

He couldn’t tell what he was doing, his mind just went blank for a bit, as the waves of his orgasm crashed down around him and it was all he could do to hold on. Jesse was trying hard to catch his breath, while Hanzo gently moved his hips, drawing shivers up and down Jesse’s back. And he was smirking at him, the bastard. Jesse snorted - bliss and annoyance this close together. He slowly let his softening cock slip out of Hanzo and for a second he really didn’t know what he was supposed to do next. But then Hanzo was there, sliding his hand into the back of Jesse’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss. His other hand roamed down Jesse’s back, soothing, gently allowing him to put his weight onto Hanzo. 

Suddenly exhausted, Jesse rested his face against the curve of Hanzo’s neck, breathing slowly against his skin. He felt the insane urge to says something like “Don’t go”, wanted to beg, wanted to ask him to stay if that’s what it took. But he had been a stubborn idiot (he still was, if he was entirely honest with himself) and now he had to live with the consequences. At least he had tried to make the most of tonight and now he’d at least have that memory. That thought tasted bitter and sweet on his tongue and it made his throat feel tight. He pressed his face closer to Hanzo’s neck and allowed himself to breathe in his scent for just a little longer, to burn as much of that cedar-and-Hanzo-smell into his brain as he could.

 

Hanzo hadn’t planned it. It was as if his hand had moved of its own accord to the back of Jesse’s neck and pulled him down onto him. As if his body didn’t want him to leave just yet. So he didn’t and let himself get lost in the bitter afterthought of nicotine and heavy, smooth whiskey and  _ Jesse _ .

So this was it. His last night on Gibraltar and this is how he had chosen to spend it. Oddly enough, he didn’t regret a thing. Now, here, with Jesse heavy on top of him, his breath against Hanzo’s neck, Hanzo was sad that this night was ending. But there was also this heavy feeling of gratitude for Jesse’s trust that made his breath catch in his throat. Fighting side by side with Genji, letting the dragons lead his blade - it had made him feel alive. The air was lighter, the colours brighter and he thought through the growling of the dragons he could hear the soft whisper of Hanamura’s cherry trees, could almost taste their smell on the tip of his tongue.

And when Jesse had asked him, so awkwardly and clumsily if he wanted to spend the night with him, he had taken a chance. Things couldn’t get any worse, could they? But then they had laughed and Jesse had looked at him with so much warmth in his eyes and Hanzo started to understand what this all meant. And he also realised that his body had known all along and it was only his mind that was just now scrambling to catch up.

That heavy, nagging feeling inside him was regret and sorrow for the end that was imminent. And it was too quick, too abrupt and he didn’t want it to end, but it would and all that was left for him to do was hold onto Jesse for as long as he could and was allowed to and try to keep those memories safe in a place where he would not lose them.

Hanzo was pulled from his musings when Jesse moved carefully on top of him. His rough voice was right there against his ear and it took Hanzo a moment to understand the meaning of his words.

“Wanna… uhm… grab a last coffee in the kitchen before we go to the debriefing?”

He could hear the insecurity in every breath and yet found himself unable to make his reply sound comforting.

“I will need a shower and a fresh set of clothes first.” He knew that his words were cold and distant, even though he hadn’t meant them to. Jesse lifted his face so that he could look at Hanzo proper and Hanzo swallowed around the lump in his throat. Jesse’s damp hair stuck to the sweat on his face and neck, his eyes were dark and warm, uncertain and sad.

“You.. could shower here… I mean… you’re a mess. It’ll be more convenient to shower here..”

Hanzo was thankful that Jesse asked him. He would have never gotten those words out, no matter how much he wanted to stay.

Jesse pushed himself up and away from Hanzo, sitting back on his haunches and allowing Hanzo to sit up as well. It felt strangely empty and like something was missing without the other’s touch. Hanzo grimaced and it took a moment before Jesse understood why. He gestured for him to stay where he was (as if Hanzo would have been able to get up anyway…) and fetched a damp towel from the bathroom. Hanzo held out his hand but Jesse ignored it and kneeled down between his legs again. Without looking at Hanzo, he ran the towel gently over his stomach and chest, down Hanzo’s thigh, cleaning him.

“Doing it right. As promised”, he said with a careful smile.

Hanzo watched him until he was done. Then he leaned back and winked at Hanzo.

“You’re good if you wanna go for that shower now, pardner.”

Hanzo sighed and stood carefully, testing if he could still trust his legs. When he was sure he wouldn’t crumble gracelessly to the floor again, he slowly padded towards the bathroom.

Their story could have ended here - he would shower, collect his clothes and they would have their coffee in awkward silence before the debriefing and then Hanzo would pack his belongings and leave Gibraltar, never to return. But that thought was so unbearable to Hanzo that he stopped in the doorway and turned around. Jesse was still where he’d left him, kneeling on the floor, staring down at the towel in his hand, raking his fingers through his damp hair as if that would help him to stop looking so lost.

Suddenly his mind was filled with the gentle rustling of the cherry trees and this time he understood that it was the dragons talking to him. They weren’t pushing him, they had learned how they had to ask him to take care of himself. In his mind he could see his old home: the massive trees and their pink blossoms. They would look even more beautiful when the wind was raking through their leaves, carrying petals on its current - letting them float gently to the ground. This was, when they were at their most beautiful: separated from their tree, gently dancing on the breeze, spiralling and ultimately fading. That was the essence of Hanamura, the beauty of their true meaning. And it had taken Hanzo almost fourty years until he understood what it meant to let go.

“Hey, Jesse..” His voice was so quiet that he wasn’t even sure Jesse heard him in the beginning. But then Jesse looked up and Hanzo smiled and jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom.

It took Jesse a moment to grasp what Hanzo was trying to say, then he got to his feet and followed Hanzo into the small bathroom. This story was not ending - at least not yet, because all stories eventually end.

Halfway in the door, Jesse hesitated, then turned around, went back into his bedroom and returned with the little bottle of lube in his hand. Hanzo arched an eyebrow at him.

”I’m not sure that, if we do this now, I’ll still be able to  _ walk _ to the debriefing.”

Jesse stood there, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, his jeans open and askew, his hair was stuck to his face and the hand in which he held the little bottle shook slightly. And then he smiled the sweetest smile as he said:

“You could… do me.”

It took all of Hanzo’s self control to keep the goofy smile off his face and reach for Jesse. He had no words left and he knew that he didn’t need them. 

The shower stall was standard issue for all quarters and it was tiny, barely big enough for one grown man to stand in comfortably. They had to press themselves close to each other under the steady stream of warm water that made their hair stick to their skin and they kissed, chest against chest, skin on skin, sharing as much of each other as they could. 

Hanzo ran his hands over Jesse’s body, learning the curves of his muscles, the ridges of every scar cutting lightly across his dark skin, trying to burn every detail into his brain like a map.

Jesse’s big hands gripped his hips and brought him closer and Hanzo’s breath hitched in his throat. Their bodies were close, there was barely any air left between them and the sharp contact of their cocks pushing against each other made them both shiver. The water washed away the sweat of their exertion, their exhaustion, their worries, raining down on Jesse’s neck, leaving their skin with a wet sheen. It ran down Jesse’s body like Hanzo’s hands did and Hanzo smiled against Jesse’s lips. He remembered how Genji had once advised him to  _ flow like water _ and he was almost sure that this was not what Genji had meant.

Jesse kissed the corner of Hanzo’s mouth, raked his fingers through his wet hair, letting the wet strands flow through his fingers like ink. He breathed slowly when he pulled Hanzo into his arms and there was this big question, all the hope and longing in the way he touched him, that Hanzo’s chest contracted painfully. 

He couldn’t think about that right now, just wanted to feel, wanted to savour this moment as best he could. He gently pushed Jesse’s arms away from himself and sank to his knees, his eyes never leaving Jesse’s. He stared down at Hanzo, his gaze dark with realisation, his hands heavy on Hanzo’s shoulders as he lightly touched his lips against the tip of Jesse’s cock. He held Jesse’s hips tightly and licked a trail up the underside of Jesse’s shaft. Jesse’s eyelids fluttered and he tried to keep them open, he really did, but he had to give into his body, lean his head and shoulders back against the wall and just feel.

Every kiss, every breath on the sensitive skin, every twist of Hanzo’s tongue drew new moans from Jesse’s lips and Hanzo revelled in it. He pressed the tip against his lips and parted them, sinking down around Jesse’s length with one single, measured movement. Jesse’s fingers curled into Hanzo’s hair, trying his best to hold on and hold still and not pull Hanzo’s head down onto him. But Hanzo wanted him to lose that control, wanted him to grip his hair and yank him down until his nose pushed against Jesse’s stomach, the tip of his cock hitting the back of Hanzo’s throat. And he would make the best effort to push him over that edge. He could feel Jesse shake as Hanzo bobbed his head up and down, then run his tongue along the side, pressing into the vein there and Jesse roared his despair into the room, head thrown back, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide open, water dripping down his lips. His fingers dug into Hanzo’s scalp and finally, he held Hanzo in place while he thrust into the wicked heat of his mouth. Hanzo relaxed his throat and took everything Jesse would give him. When Jesse’s thrusts became erratic, his cock twitching in his mouth, his moans almost feverish, Hanzo pushed through Jesse’s hands and pulled back before he would push Jesse over the edge.

A loud, frustrated growl followed and Jesse pulled him up, capturing his mouth in a hungry, searing kiss. 

“That was close”, he breathed between kisses and breaths and Hanzo could feel his stomach muscles contract in anticipation. He turned Jesse to face the tiled wall of the shower, pressing kisses to his neck while he ran his fingers softly down his spine. They both needed this tiny bit of reprieve to calm down, just enough to draw it out. He blindly fumbled for the lube and when Jesse heard the unmistakable pop of the lid, he pressed his ass closer to Hanzo.

“Come one… please”, he mumbled, his voice heavy with impatience and need.

“Won’t skip a single step. Doing it right, remember?”

Jesse just groaned and balled his fists against the tiles, gritting his teeth, but ultimately couldn’t say anything, because he had used the same line on Hanzo earlier.

Hanzo heard him hold his breath as he circled his finger around Jesse’s entrance. His other hand snaked around Jesse’s front, holding him, brushing over one of his nipples with his thumb. Hanzo was astonished that Jesse would give himself up to him so easily, that he would be so eager to beg for more. And what was more, he loved seeing Jesse like this. He was so vulnerable, so bared to him that Hanzo couldn’t help, but rest his forehead against Jesse’s shoulder and whisper senseless praises into his skin.

When Hanzo eventually curled his fingers inside Jesse, hitting that bundle of nerves just right, Jesse shivered harshly and hit his fist against the tiles.

“Shh. You’re good”, Hanzo whispered, running his free hand over Jesse’s chest, his belly, holding his shaking body close to himself. He didn’t know how long he could keep them both teetering on this edge, couldn’t tell how much time had passed or how much water had rained down on them - and he didn’t care. All that mattered in that moment were the two of them, Jesse’s breath unsteady and needy in their shared desire.

“Hanzo… I can’t…” Jesse’s voice was dangerously close to a whine and Hanzo hurried to add a second finger, swirling, spreading them, careful not to touch his prostate this time. He couldn’t keep this up for long and when Jesse started pushing back into him, spreading his thighs further, Hanzo had to stop. He removed his fingers from Jesse’s body and before he could utter a sound, Hanzo brought his cock against Jesse’s entrance and pushed into him, inch by inch, slowly, but steadily. Then he held still and gave them a moment to breathe, holding onto Jesse’s hip with a tight grip, his other hand sliding up to his neck to keep him in place. Hanzo could feel Jesse’s pulse thrum against the pads of his fingers and he cursed silently.

Jesse scrabbled for Hanzo’s arm, his fingers sliding over his wet skin, along his wrist, up his forearm and he breathed: “Please.. Move… please…” Hanzo pulled back, only to bury himself into the welcoming heat of Jesse’s body again and again, filling the small room with the wet sounds of their skin on skin, their moans and gasps and. Hanzo did not try to do it deliberately, but whenever he brushed over Jesse’s prostate, he would arch his back, throw his head back and groan in the most beautiful way, his tense fist shivering against the tiles and Hanzo never wanted to stop doing that.

He was so caught up in his fascination of the way Jesse would respond so freely and unabashedly to even the simplest of touches that he was surprised as he realised how close to his own climax he actually was. He had to stop, didn’t want to come in him without asking and not finding the self-control to tell his mouth to form those words. As he was just about to pull away, Jesse gripped his forearm tightly and managed to choke out between breaths and broken moans: 

“Stay. Hanzo, please… stay.”

It didn’t take long after that, a few thrusts, fingers curling into skin, digging into muscles and Hanzo came, trembling from the intensity and the exertion. He held on tightly, his arm around Jesse, leaned against his back as he rode the waves of his climax. Somewhere at the edge of his conscience Hanzo realised that Jesse was jerking himself off with his mechanical hand; his hips stuttered and he moaned, exhausted, as he spilled himself over his hand, tightening around Hanzo and his name on his lips as he came down.

He held Jesse long like that, his cheek between Jesse’s shoulders, pressing the palms of his hands against his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat calm underneath his skin, his rapid breaths slowed in time with Hanzo’s own. Hanzo couldn’t turn him around, had no restraint left. He wouldn’t be able to kiss Jesse without utterly shattering that fragile thing that had grown inside his chest. He tried to breathe, but could only taste bitterness on his tongue.

It was over.

He let go of Jesse, not letting himself kiss that sun-tan skin for one last time and stepped out of the shower. He had to keep it together, had to breathe through the fire in his chest. Not looking at Jesse, Hanzo tried to force his voice to sound relaxed, casual.

“If you still wish to grab a coffee before the debriefing, we should go now.”

Hanzo thought he understood now what Jesse had felt on the shooting range. There was an intense impulse to just run away and he fought his hardest to not give in.  _ I’m sorry  _ or  _ I was an idiot _ burned on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed them down and instead passed Jesse a towel, all the while still avoiding his gaze. He dried himself off and went searching for his clothes. Hanzo knew that Jesse wouldn’t say anything anymore. He had said all he could, had given Hanzo a chance at every turn and he hadn’t taken it. Even when Jesse had pleaded with him, he had desperately tried to save face and referred only to the situation, leaving it to Hanzo to figure out that he meant something so much more. And still, Hanzo hadn’t taken it. He didn’t want to make it any more difficult than it already was, for the both of them. And he was sure Jesse would smile and act as casual as ever, doing the same for him. That made Hanzo realise that Jesse had been doing that the whole time: mask his fear, his pain, his past with an act, a show. It had been a miracle, actually, that even through all their stupid behaviour, all their stubbornness and mistakes they had still ended up here.

Torn between the whirlwind of emotions in his chest, Hanzo smiled at Jesse and together, they left his quarters, every step towards the common room a step towards a future where there was no them.


	11. Epilogue: An Entire Ocean In A Single Drop

The sun was slowly rising over the bay, flooding the whole complex with a clear, golden light, when Hanzo and Jesse entered the common room. They were greeted by a surprisingly awake group, consisting of Genji, Fareeha and Zenyatta, who were having an early start to their day. Genji and Zenyatta must have been meditating in the early hours of the morning, their metallic bodies still glistened with small drops of dew. 

Pharah was just setting down two mugs, one of them read “Cute enough to stop your heart, skilled enough to restart it”, the other had an image of a sticker on it that said “Trust me, my wife is a doctor”. She greeted the two new arrivals with an honest smile.

“You look exhausted”, Genji said, looking up from his cup of tea, “Did you spar together?” His eyebrow rose only a little when he looked into their faces.

Zenyatta, who was hovering over the chair next to Genji, made a quiet, chirping sound. His facemask didn’t really give anything away, but he was truly a master in making his voice sound exceptionally innocent.

“It seems to me, my student that sparring might not be the right term in this case.” He was almost singing, his floating  _ mala _ only emphasizing his act with its soft tones.

A silence followed that was so charged with an amused sort of anticipation that it surprised Jesse that no one burst out laughing. He ignored the comments and poured himself and Hanzo coffee with a smile on his lips that he hoped was more of the mysterious sort, than goofy. Fareeha looked at him as he handed the mug to Hanzo, her face the perfect image of honest anticipation. Only the twitching around the corners of her mouth betrayed the laughter she fought so hard to hold back. 

“So, did you two work it out then?”, Genji asked with a broad grin and Jesse thought it must have been written all over his and Hanzo’s face, with the way they all grinned at them.

“Oh, they did  _ work _ alright”, Fareeha snorted.

Before anyone else could make another suggestive comment, the door opened again, allowing even more light to flood into the room. There, in the doorway stood Lucio, a brace on his leg and a grin on his face. Next to him stood Dr. Ziegler who smiled at Fareeha and between them, supported by one arm of each around her waist was Hana.

“I just couldn’t keep these two in the med bay anymore”, Dr. Ziegler said, her expression halfway between apologetic and annoyed, “it’s like herding a bag of fleas.”

The trio made their way into the room, carefully settling Hana into a chair. She made a face, but didn’t say anything. “I feel a lot better already, Dr. Ziegler”, she said, her dark hair spilling over the back of her chair, “lying around in the med bay is boring.”

Lucio, who had slumped in the chair between Hana’s and Zenyatta’s, noticed Hanzo and his face lit up.

“Hey, Commander! I can’t wait until I can finally get back to training.” He shook his braced leg for emphasis. “It’s almost completely healed. Should be good to go the week after next at the latest.”

He was proud, his face was glowing like the sun over the bay outside.

Hanzo swallowed.

“Right, Commander!” This was Hana piping up, decidedly ignoring the gentle scolding, Dr. Ziegler was launching into. “It’s tactical training on the schedule, we really wanna be there.” She flexed her slender arms and flinched only the slightest bit. “Dr. Ziegler said I would be good to go until then.”

Hanzo was panicking slightly, scrambling for a coherent answer when he heard Genji’s quiet chuckle from the table. “You see, brother, Overwatch needs you skills and your strict hand in training.” He took a sip of his tea, his little finger stretched out daintily. He was doing it on purpose.

“And I’m sure, Jesse need a sniper that can do one better than him in training.” Fareeha’s voice was honey sweet as she handed the  _ cute _ mug to Angela. When Hanzo looked to Jesse for help, he just hid his grin in his mug. It was staggeringly unhelpful, really.

He sighed.

“In two weeks. Monday. 7am, sharp. But only if you’re cleared by Dr. Ziegler.” 

Lucio and Hana nodded eagerly, their smiles glowing even brighter. Hanzo cleared his throat and turned the mug around and around in his hands.

“There’s a debriefing I have to prepare for, so if you’ll excuse me.” His hands were shaking slightly as he swept from the room and only outside did he notice that he was still holding onto the mug tightly.

He was still unable to grasp what had just happened in there, his mind reeling to catch up.

Suddenly there was a hand heavy on his shoulder and he didn’t need to turn around to guess who it was. He recognised the smell of pines and the warmth from the moments they had shared earlier.

“Don’t think you fucked me into staying”, Hanzo said and even though his voice sounded gruff, he was smiling.

“I wasn’t”, Jesse replied, “But you fucked me into asking if you had any plans. How’s tomorrow night sound for ye?”

And they both smiled as they made their way through the base. Outside, the sun slowly changed the steely grey of the calm sea to the azure blue of day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was it. We're done.  
> Our attempt to write shameless smut ended in this.  
> Thank you for reading!  
> Critique is ALWAYS welcome!
> 
> A huge, colossal THANK YOU goes to Ziane for all her support, encouraging words and for being an awesome beta-reader. It waters (HA!) my eyes how much time you invested for our writing and on your advise for us. <3


End file.
